


The Sun Always Sets

by Portrait_of_a_Fool



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Dark, Explicit Language, Graphic Imagery, Horror, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Physical Torture, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Suspense, Thriller, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 70,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Portrait_of_a_Fool/pseuds/Portrait_of_a_Fool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years ago Danny Williams disappeared without a trace. Then one day he came back, different and strange, almost unrecognizable. Steve still knows and loves him though; he is determined to help Danny through this—and bring the monster responsible for these changes in Danny to justice. Even though Steve is happy, Danny is harboring a secret darker and far more terrifying and dangerous than Steve could ever have imagined. Though he cannot tell him the truth, Danny means to keep Steve safe even if it costs him his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is very graphic and I urge you to **please** read the warnings and heed them.

Prologue  
 **Three Years Ago:**

One fall a serial killer terrorized Honolulu and the surrounding areas. He left bodies behind that were so mangled and mutilated that it took dental records to identify most of the victims.

Danny had a very clear image stuck in his head from the first scene of a crab picking pieces of brain matter out of a tourist from Delaware’s skull. The crab had also gone in an evidence bag to be dissected by Max later and that had given Danny a sick sense of satisfaction to see the crab taken away like it was solely responsible for the atrocity that lay strewn across a secluded cove.

Kono’s rookie nerves had at long last caught up with her after taking in the scene and she said, “Guys, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to—”

Chin patted her and he looked a little green around the gills himself. They all did. “We understand cuz, do what you need to do,” he said and she’d given a jerky nod before sprinting away with her hand over her mouth.

“What kind of sick freak would do something like this?” Danny asked as he looked at the remains glistening wet and red in the bright morning sun. “Nevermind, don’t answer that, I don’t want to think about it.”

Steve nodded, expression a twisted mix of grim and angry at the brutal, senseless death. “We’re going to need to find out if we’re going to catch this guy though.”

Danny sighed and felt his shoulders slump. “I know,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“No one likes it, Danno,” Steve said and sighed, too, echoing Danny before drawing himself up and getting his Serious Face firmly in place. “Let’s get to work.”

“Woo,” Danny said flatly as he’d eyed the strings of intestine leading down into the water where they floated like morbid kelp. “Where do we even _start_?”

Steve opened his mouth like he was going to answer then he looked at the mess that had once been a person and closed it again. “I have no idea,” he said and then pressed his lips into a thin, tight line.

Danny patted his back and ended it with a light, discreet stroke and nodded. He understood Steve’s dismayed horror perfectly well.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Six bodies later, they were still floundering around in the dark waters of No Idea and it was driving them all nuts. It seemed like every time they turned around, there was a new body torn to pieces for them to go scoop into little baggies. Danny was sickened when he thought about the victims’ grieving families burying garbage bags full of their loved ones, hidden away in closed caskets to hide the fact there was an industrial Hefty sack lying against the satin lining.

They never did find all of victim number six’s head and had used fingerprinting for the ID. Some asshole from HPD let that bit slip to the poor girl’s mother and she screamed before collapsing in sobs. Chin caught her before she hit the floor and Danny lost his professional cool and decked the fucking moron. Steve had nodded his approval as he’d looked on while the guy bitched about his nose being broken. By that point no one cared about one stupid jerk’s broken nose when they had bodies turning up looking more like splatter punk abstract art than human beings.

They all tried their best to close the case quickly as possible. They followed every lead—of which there were few—they checked and re-checked the areas the murders had occurred for witnesses and came up empty every time. Steve gnawed his fingernails down to bloody crescent moons and Danny’s crappy apartment sported an unsightly hole in the flimsy plaster. Kono looked like she hadn’t washed her hair in days with anything more than ocean water and it hung around her drawn face in saltwater clumps. Chin had circles under his eyes that seemed to be making a bid for his cheeks they were so big. All of that and they still had _nothing_ except a bunch of bereaved families wanting answers and six bodies stored in bags within bags.

“How is he doing it?” Steve asked one day while they all wolfed down their lunches, not tasting the good food, but eating because they needed their strength. “How can one person rip another person apart like they’re paper?”

“I keep asking my Magic 8 Ball the same thing,” Danny said around a mouthful of turkey club.

“Yeah? What’s it telling you?” Kono asked, cracking the first sliver of a smile anyone had seen from her in days.

“Nada, no matter how hard I shake it, I keep getting ‘the answer is unclear’,” Danny said. “Even telling it how serious an offense it is to withhold information in a criminal investigation hasn’t cracked it.”

“Maybe you should get a court order,” Chin offered.

“Or just rough it up, show it I mean business,” Danny said. “Anybody got some jumper cables and a battery they wanna loan me?”

Steve looked a little constipated when the exchange first began, but by the end of it, he was laughing, too and with that, Danny had gone back to his sandwich. He’d done what he set out to do—get a laugh out of his teammates and ease some of their tension for a few minutes. While they chuckled softly and Kono mentioned that she’d had a Magic 8 Ball as a teenager, Danny turned over what Steve’d originally asked in his mind. A light bump against his shin had Danny looking up from his lunch to find Steve looking at him with a slight smile. He winked at Danny, a silent version of _thanks_ and Danny winked back then fluttered his lashes at him, which made Steve snort.

They ate their lunches slower after that, actually tasting their food and relaxing, even if it was only a fraction.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The call came in one night while they looked over the crime scene photos from the last victim. It was late and they were beyond exhausted, eyes red-rimmed and food stains on their shirts. They’d taken to snapping at each other over the slightest things, right down to Chin and Kono getting into a short-lived shouting match over who had dibs on the last of the coffee, neither of them thinking about there being more in the cabinet for the making. Danny and Steve had nearly come to blows over a half-stale malasada about an hour before the Great Coffee War. They’d settled it by grudgingly agreeing to half it at Chin’s suggestion, which had earned him twin glares for the trouble.

Danny was listening to the coffee pot percolating away when the phone rang and he was up, out of his seat like a shot. He beat Steve to it and gave him a little smirk as he snatched up the receiver. While Steve took a moment to sulk about that, Danny said, “This is Detective Williams.”

He listened as the dispatch officer on the other end told him they had gotten a call reporting screaming from a neighbor. The island was on red alert by that point, people imposing their own curfews and locking their houses up like fortresses since some jackass had leaked photos of the fourth scene to the press, so calls like that weren’t uncommon. 

Which is why Danny asked, “So what makes this one special? How do we know it’s not some panicking housewife who’s had too much wine or something?”

“The neighbor says _he_ saw an arm fly through a window,” the annoyed female dispatch officer said. “It landed in the swimming pool.”

“Damn,” Danny said and the dispatcher gave him the address.

Hanging up, he tore the address off the notepad he’d scribbled it on and waved it around. “Let’s go,” he said.

Steve was already halfway down the hall and they had to catch up.

~*~*~*~*~*~

There was indeed an arm in the swimming pool and an arc of blood marking its path across the lawn from the shattered kitchen window it had flown through. The inside of the house looked like something out of a nightmare and Danny crossed himself as they approached the body lying by the island counter. His face was hanging off to one side, partially torn away, grey eyebrows grizzled with gore.

“Jesus,” Chin said softly under his breath as he joined Danny beside the body. “ _Why_ would someone do this?”

“That’s the question of the decade, my friend,” Danny muttered as he looked down at the sad ruins.

“Guys, we’ve got another vic,” Steve said, coming in from the step-down living room. “Female.”

“Fuck!” Danny said as he rose from his crouch to go with Chin to check out the second body.

“We’ve also got footprints,” Kono said. “They’re hard to see because of the blood, but they smooth out and take shape a few feet away since there aren’t…” She stopped and swallowed thickly. “Puddles,” she finished with a frown.

They all perked up at that. Footprints meant there was a way to track their perp if they could pick up a trail soon enough before he washed his shoes or the blood on them dried. The murdered couple was the first inside murder they’d had and hardwood floors held onto evidence far better than sand or grass did.

Kono showed them where the trail started and they stared at it in the beams from their flashlights as sirens filled the air, announcing HPD’s rapid approach to the scene. The footprints looked _odd_ , misshapen or something, perhaps a distortion caused by the copious amounts of blood. No one really dwelled on that part because the tracks led further into the house, not out and away from it and that’s what they latched onto.

“He’s still here,” Steve said, his whole body coiled tight and ready for a fight if that’s what it took to bring the bastard down.

“Do we wait for backup or do we go ahead?” Danny asked even though he knew the answer already.

Steve just gave him a look and Danny smirked back. It was dangerous, it was _insane_ to go after such a violent offender without half the police department backing them up, but for weeks they’d been sifting through bloody remains and listening to families sobbing over their lost loved ones. After all of that, a lack of backup didn’t really matter because they had their chance and they’d be just as insane not to take it. Besides, they had guns and nothing about their guy ever suggested he employed a firearm to help him rend and ruin lives. With guns, they had the upper hand here, no matter how violent their offender was; no matter how slice-and-dice sickly talented he was with a knife.

“He can’t have gone far, I want to follow the prints as far as we can and then we spread out and do a full sweep,” Steve said.

They followed the bloody trail to the foyer and then it got weird. The foyer was a mess of footprints, slick-wet-tacky red trampled in all different directions. Danny scoffed as he looked at the tracks on the floor.

“He’s fucking with us,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair. “Bastard knows he’s cornered and he’s still making a game of it.”

“We’ll get him though and then we can see who laughs, right?” Steve said through gritted teeth.

“Sure enough,” Chin said.

Danny knew that if, for some reason, their perp ended up with a bullet between his eyes instead of a pair of steel bracelets then no one would complain. It was something they’d all thought about more than once, but had never said. Sworn to uphold the law or not, after having seen what he had the past few weeks Danny was more than a little okay with that unspoken decision.

“Which way do we go?” Kono asked, turning in a tight circle to follow the paths spinning out like spokes on a wheel. “He could’ve only went one way, but _which one_?”

“Split up,” Steve said. “Chin, you go east; Kono, you go west. I’ll take the south and Danny, you go north.”

“You mean upstairs?” Danny asked.

“Yes, I mean upstairs,” Steve said.

“That’s all you had to say,” Danny said and squeezed his arm before moving toward the stairs, skirting as much of the mucked up foyer floor as he could.

He took the stairs quickly and quietly, noting that the blood trail petered out to smears and smudges halfway up. Careful inspection of the white runner on the stairs showed fainter red marks that continued the rest of the way though. Danny grinned, the expression tight and grimace-like as he continued to climb. If he had to put money down on it, he’d have to say their perp was upstairs. The smudged places on the carpet had been his attempt at wiping his weirdly deformed feet. His _bare_ feet, Danny realized with a start that made his skin crawl.

At the top of the stairs, standing on the landing, Danny looked down the hallway and even with the current situation; he was drawn up short at the sight before him. The window at the end of the hallway was filled by the bloated, orange harvest moon. It was so big and bright that its sudden light left Danny blinking in the glow it cast through the large window. The top of the window was made of stained glass mosaic tiles and multicolored prisms of moonlight freckled the ceiling and walls. It was _beautiful_.

Danny blinked his eyes rapidly to try and adjust to the brightness of the silver-orange light streaming down the hallway as he looked around. The door to his left was open and he edged his way inside, weapon drawn as he did so. It was a comfortably furnished guest bedroom and Danny made quick work of his sweep.

On his way out of the bedroom he realized he’d forgotten to check the closet. Biting his lip against a curse and ignoring the sweat prickling the back of his neck despite the cool interior of the house, Danny turned and went back to the closet. 

He opened the door, standing back slightly with his gun aimed at the interior as he brought up his flashlight to look inside. All he found was a largely empty space and a few suede-covered coat hangers dangling from the rod. Without even realizing it, Danny let out a sigh of relief as he stepped back to turn and walk out of the room again.

It was then Danny felt the hot gust of breath on the back of his sweaty neck. He couldn’t see who was behind him, but he had a sense of being _loomed_ over all the same. Thanks to the moonlight, there was a grotesque shadow distorted by the light thrown up on the wall to Danny’s right, twisting its human-but-not shape up to the ceiling. He ran cold all over and felt the adrenaline rush kick in, jumpstarting his instincts that had him tightening his grip on his weapon. Everything else around him narrowed down to pinpoint focus, making things sharper and more detailed as he stepped forward again even as he dropped his flashlight to brace his gun hand on his left forearm as he turned.

The sound that tore out of whatever had come up behind him made Danny’s heart triphammer in his chest. All he could think was, _I am going to die here_. He raised his weapon to fire anyway because he wouldn’t just _let_ himself be murdered, not like that and not by some fucking psycho. He tightened his finger on the trigger, starting to squeeze and then there was pain exploding up his left arm as his attacker lunged forward and bit him.

Danny screamed, partly in pain and partly out of nothing but primal fear as he caught a glimpse of the beast— _monster_ —that was attacking him in the light of his flashlight laying on the floor.

Then he pulled the trigger despite the pain, unwilling to back down and give into the searing agony of it and heard the solid, meaty _thwump_ of the bullet meeting flesh. A gout of blood and a hunk of flesh flew out of the thing’s massive shoulder and it staggered back half a step from the force of impact. It was the monster’s turn to scream then, but it recovered and made another advance on Danny as he stumbled back, falling into the open closet, even as he pulled the trigger again.

He hit the thing again and it snarled, the sound so loud and full of raw anger that Danny actually felt his blood run cold. He heard the others pounding up the stairs, calling his name as he fired again and missed, the bullet wedging into the opposite wall.

There was a glimpse of glowing eyes catching in the moonlight, flaring chatoyant chartreuse green and then the monster was gone, moving with remarkable speed and agility towards the bedroom window. Just as the beams of the others flashlights spilled over the bedroom’s threshold there came the sound of shattering glass and Kono ran towards it while Steve went for the closet to check on Danny.

“What happened? Shit, Danny, talk to me,” he said as he crouched down in front of Danny who was still aiming his gun at the open mouth of the closet. “Danny,” Steve repeated and gently pushed his hand down to lower his weapon.

“Dog, the fucker has a _dog_ ,” Danny said as the shock of the situation bore down on him, leaving him wanting to shake as he thought about how close he’d come to being hash for some kind of mutant German shepherd.

“What? God, your arm,” Steve said, worried, but always the consummate professional in a crisis as he examined the wound on Danny’s arm, holes from the slightly curved canines looking like he’d had ten penny nails driven into his flesh.

“Big, big fucking dog, Steve. Not your average Lassie, no sir,” Danny went on, babbling and half out of his head with shock.

“Come on, HPD is here, they can deal with this for now,” Steve said, helping to lever Danny up off the floor. “Let’s get you to a hospital.”

“No, I need to be here,” Danny said even as his stomach roiled, leaving him feeling like he was going to vomit.

“You need stitches and a rabies shot,” Steve said.

“Just get the paramedics here to patch me up and then let me _work_ ,” Danny said, digging his bloody fingers into Steve’s shoulder. “We’ve got many exciting things to do and a psycho killer to catch, I do not need a hospital.

What he really needed was home, but there was no way in hell he was going to let a dog bite—albeit a really nasty one—keep him from working the scene and seeing if they could find anything.

“No, you’re going to the hospital and after the hospital, you’re going home,” Steve insisted.

“No, not _home_ ,” Danny snapped as he leaned heavily against Steve despite himself. “Back here to work this scene.”

“Home,” Steve said as they made their careful way down the stairs.

“No, Steven,” Danny countered.

“Yes, Daniel,” Steve countered right back.

His stomach was flipping and clenching with nausea that he swallowed down as his head also began to pound. His arm felt like it was on fire and he was sweating again by the time they started down the stairs. Maybe going to the hospital and getting some painkillers at least wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

In the end, Steve got his way because by the time he was stitched and well medicated with painkillers, Danny felt so sick he thought he was going to pass out. He did a good enough job of hiding it though and the ride back to his apartment was strangely quiet and blessedly uneventful.

Steve still offered to stay with him, saying that Chin and Kono could handle things for a little while, at least until he’d gotten Danny settled. Danny only shook his head, pulled Steve down for a quick kiss and then pushed him out the door.

“I’ll be fine,” Danny told him, laying a gently restraining hand on Steve’s chest. “You go catch that motherfucker and his mutt, huh?”

“Will do,” Steve said with a quick grin before he turned and walked away.

Danny shut the door with a soft groan and blinked his gritty feeling eyes. Feeling like he had an itch in the middle of his mind that he couldn’t scratch, he shuffled over to the pull-out and collapsed.

That same night he woke up from strange dreams of fur and fangs, shivering and racked with pain so intense he couldn’t even scream. His muscles ached and cramped, his skin itched so badly _all over_ that it nearly burned. His jaws hurt; hell, his entire _mouth_ hurt and Danny swore he could taste blood in the back of his throat. As he laid there soaking his sheets with cold sweat, Danny was aware of that itch in his mind having grown stronger. He was unable to shake the sensation of being watched from inside his own head and thought himself delirious with fever even as it _moved_ and came forward to calm him.

Thankfully, he passed out not long after that.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Danny spent the next couple of days huddled in his bed, feeling sick and feverish while the certainty that something was _wrong_ with him grew. The sound of his neighbors moving around outside his door sounded like they were right there in his living room, _stomping_ their feet as they walked past. The noise was enough to finally drive him out of bed and into the shower to wash the funk off and re-bandage his wound. He didn’t pay it much mind at first, but after drying off and getting all of the gauze and ointment gathered up to wrap his arm again, he realized the bite was almost healed. Aside from the deeper punctures made by the dog’s fangs, there was nothing but a wicked looking scar where the bite had been only a couple of days earlier.

“What is this?” Danny said to himself as he studied his arm, turning it this way and that. He wasn’t complaining, but it was still weird and he wrapped his arm anyway since the punctures weren’t completely healed.

It was as he was brushing his teeth that he noticed they were also different, his canines slightly longer; barely noticeable as different unless someone was to really look. Danny knew his teeth, he’d had them his whole life and they had _never_ looked like that.

“I cannot deal with this,” he said with a shake of his head and backed away from the bathroom mirror. “I… nope, not gonna. I am hallucinating and trapped in some fever dream because this is bullshit, total bullshit and I am talking to myself, too. Obviously I have gone insane and I can accept that. Mostly.”

Instead, he worried about getting some food into his belly. He hadn’t eaten since the night he was attacked because he had felt too ill to bother nor did he trust anything to stay down. Now, he was hungrier than he could ever remember being and ended up eating every scrap of meat in his refrigerator, gagging when he took his first bite of steak raw without even thinking about it. He ate it though, swallowing it down with relish and licking his lips. Then he took another bite and another and another until he was staring at nothing but the styrofoam tray that had held the steak.

“Oh, God,” Danny muttered around the last mouthful of raw beef as he stumbled away from his counter. He repeated that like a mantra all the way back to the pull-out where he sat down with a thump and cradled his head in his hands, smearing beef blood through his mussed hair.

He had the distinct impression that whatever it was living in his head did not believe in God the way that Danny did and he was only able to laugh until he was hiccupping. He was convinced he was going mad as a fucking hatter while that calm, alien presence watched and tried to comfort him. Despite himself, Danny let it and laid down across the foot of his bed, bitten arm cradled against his chest and dozed.

A couple of hours later he awoke from more strange dreams of chasing elk across a frosty plain. He sat up and took a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he sniffed and recognized the new smell as Steve. He _smelled_ Steve coming up the walk to his apartment door and Danny shook his head again as the presence in his mind quivered with delight at the scent. A few seconds later he heard a scuff-scrape of sound outside his door and saw a shadow on the other side.

“If you pick my lock, so help me I will arrest you,” Danny called as he stood up to go open the door and look back at Steve’s surprised face. “Honestly, can’t you knock?”

“Can you?” Steve asked and then he frowned as he looked Danny over. “You look like shit run over twice.”

“Thank you for that charming assessment,” Danny said as he stepped back to let Steve in.

He had the strangest urge to rub up against him and lick his face, a happy sound of greeting rising unbidden in his throat that he bit back. Without thinking, he gave a violent shake of his head that left him feeling dizzy before he shuffled back to the pull-out and collapsed.

Waving a hand around and trying like hell to look like everything was normal, Danny asked, “To what do I owe the honor of having you attempting to break and enter on me?”

“You haven’t been answering your phone, for one thing,” Steve said from the kitchen where he was digging around, looking for… who knew what. Probably fluids to try and pump into Danny. “The first day, I figured I’d leave it alone and let you rest, but it’s been _two_ days and I was starting to… you know.”

“Aww, you were _worried_ about me,” Danny said with a smile. “It’s okay, you can say it; I won’t laugh at you for having feelings or anything unmanly like that.”

“Shut up, Danny,” Steve said as he came back with a glass of apple juice. Thrusting it at Danny, he ignored his smile as Danny took the juice. “I’m going to the store and I am getting soup and ibuprofen and then you’re going back to the doctor tomorrow if you’re not better by then. Got it?”

“Sure thing, Nurse Ratched,” Danny said. Then he leaned forward to press his face against Steve’s belly. He breathed him in before grasping the hem of his shirt in his teeth and tugging once before letting go. “Can’t you put that trip off for about an hour though? I’m just saying, you know, sexual healing and all that.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Steve said, but he pulled his shirt over his head and climbed up on the pull-out anyway.

“Fine by me, so long as you don’t run off to buy _soup_ ,” Danny said and pulled Steve down to kiss him.

As he licked into Steve’s mouth, he _growled_ , the sound low and possessive in his throat. Steve pulled back to look at him with an eyebrow raised and Danny grinned back through his uneasiness.

“What can I say?” he said and left it at that because he actually had no clue what to say. He’d never growled in his life, not like that, not _for real_. The sound he just made wasn’t human and he was all too aware of that strange stirring in his mind as he looked at Steve.

Steve rolled his shoulders in a careless shrug. Then he got a glint in his eyes as the corners of his mouth turned up in a little smile. “Do it again,” he said before leaning in to kiss Danny again.

Danny laughed into the kiss as he slid a hand up the back of Steve’s neck. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss some and when he did, he growled again. It was much easier the second time and as they moved together, Danny was not altogether unaware of the presence inside of him settling in. Melting into his consciousness like it belonged there and he didn’t fight it because it didn’t scare him all that much anymore; over the past couple of days, it had begun to _fit_.

As he laid there afterward, content and sated as he listened to Steve in the shower, Danny came to a strange realization and started at the thought. Because no, there was no way, he thought as he sat up in bed like he’d just been kicked.

“No, no,” he said under his breath and that slowly merging consciousness in his mind seemed to whisper back, _Yes_.

Danny buried his face in his hands, honestly fighting the urge to scream. “ _No_ ,” he repeated through clenched teeth.

“No, what?” Steve asked. Danny jumped at the sound of his voice. He’d been so wrapped up in his little mental breakdown he didn’t hear the shower stop running.

“Nothing.” Danny looked at Steve and caught himself sniffing the air to breathe him in again.

 _Yes_ , that wordless voice said inside his head again and Danny shuddered.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Over the course of the month that followed, Danny learned new things about himself. He was faster, stronger, he could hear and see better, his sense of smell was _phenomenal_ —which was awesome when he was inside a bakery, but absolutely terrible when they had to chase a suspect inside a fish cannery. He also shook himself off after a shower half the time before he even thought to grab a towel, which was just annoying.

Everything but the latter made him better at a job he was already good at and people noticed, but in a good way. While he still feared it, to an extent, after having realized the _why_ of it all in his still largely disbelieving way (because shit like that _did not happen_ except in movies and folktales) Danny gradually started to welcome it as well. Especially after outrunning Steve one morning on the beach by his house. The look on Steve’s face as Danny tore past him had _almost_ been enough to make his superstitious terror lay down and hush.

Because Danny was nothing if not curious, he also learned that he could _make_ it happen. Sitting alone in his apartment late at night on the occasions he wasn’t with Steve, Danny took to _calling_ it. He learned to pull on the awareness that was a _part_ of him now and draw it up through his body like thread. The first time, all it took was a twitch of his muscles that promised incredible pain if he persisted and Danny quit. He sat back on his pull-out and sucked in harsh breaths as fear sweat greased his skin with its oily, sour stink.

“This isn’t happening,” he said to himself even though he knew it was a lie.

A couple of days later, he tried again and pushed past the initial ache in his muscles right up until his jaw cracked and shifted under his skin. Danny shoved it back down again with a gasp of pain and a swallowed down sound of terror.

The third time he made it far enough to see the hair as it began to push through his skin, blonde just like the hair on his head. He’d been in so much pain by that point as his bones had cracked and seemed to _stretch_ that he’d barely been capable of wondering at that little detail. He’d let it go so far that the reshaping of his twisted body hurt as much if not more. He laid there, naked and sweating all over and blinked up at his ceiling dumbly. The one thing he thought about again and again was how the _fur_ had been the same shade of blonde as his hair.

 _It_ really was a part of him, he thought and then he laughed and laughed, hysterical, coughing bursts of sound.

~*~*~*~*~*~

After the seventh and eighth victims, the murders stopped. HPD had found a trail of blood going across the back lawn of the residence, leading down through some scrub growth that petered out onto a stretch of beach. The blood had led to the surf line and then it, along with the strange tracks, had been washed away by the surge and pull of the ocean.

They never did find any paw prints to suggest a dog had been there. Danny maintained his story, the nasty bite he’d received backing it up. “Maybe the asshole carried the damn thing,” Danny said. “I did shoot it after all.”

Everyone agreed maybe that was the case simply because they had no other explanations.

Danny alone knew the truth, not the whole truth—not by a long shot—but he knew more than anyone else. He knew it hadn’t really been a dog that bit him even though at first he’d believed that, too. He knew that it hadn’t been a mere man that had torn all of those people apart even though everyone else still thought so. _He had to’ve used some kind of tool to tear those poor people up so bad,_ they said. _Maybe he was on drugs,_ they speculated. Maybes and what ifs had run rampant through 5-0 and the HPD during the killing spree and they didn’t stop even though the murders did. A case like that one, especially an _unsolved_ case, would never be completely let go of. It would become a legend passed down to each new generation of law enforcement officers in Honolulu and probably other places as well.

Everyone else was so busy speculating about _how_ the guy had done it that no one noticed how quiet on the matter Danny had become.

He couldn’t help but wonder though: What had happened to their killer? Had his shots hit something vital and the guy had slunk off somewhere to die? Or had he simply left Oahu and gone elsewhere to carry on? Danny actually put his money on the latter because after such a close call, any serial killer with a lick of sense would take that as their cue to pack up and get the hell out of Dodge.

He dreaded the day they got the call from another state—or even a country, he couldn’t discount that—telling them they had crimes matching the same MO as their guy in Honolulu.

~*~*~*~*~*~

As that month wore on, Danny grew increasingly aware of the moon’s phase. The bigger and brighter it got in the sky, the more it seemed to pull at something inside of him. He wanted to go to it, rip his skin off and run all night to try and chase that silver globe of light down.

Even indoors at night, he could feel the moon pressing down on him like a gentle hand. Often he’d find himself pacing his living room, looking at the windows where light crept around the flimsy blinds. If he was with Steve, Danny would lie beside him, soaking in his warmth and nearness; all while gazing out the window at the moon high up in the star-dappled sky.

He could push it aside and ignore it to a degree, but he knew what was coming and it had him scared witless. Sometimes, if he really focused, he could almost feel the smooth slide of thick fur just beneath his skin, making him itch and leaving him with the desire to sniff and hunt and run.

One day after a foot chase, Danny stood with his hands planted on his knees and panted like a dog while he waited for the others to catch up—he still couldn’t get over that: _they_ had to catch up with _him_. The suspect was cuffed and laying on the ground a couple of feet from Danny and he watched with wary suspicion as Danny let his tongue loll slightly, not thinking and certainly not caring about the tattooed man on the ground.

But then the man said, “What the hell, yo? You think you some kind of dog or something? A K-9 cop?”

Danny snapped his head up and snarled at him, baring his weird new teeth, before he was able to stop himself. A few seconds later, Chin rounded the corner and asked if Danny was all right. He nodded and waved a hand at the guy on the ground that had gone pale under his tan.

“Grab that bozo, huh?” he said and licked his lips to clear away the flecks of saliva before anyone noticed.

Chin nodded and said, “Come on,” to the guy and dragged him up off the concrete. He didn’t pay any attention to the suspect’s exclamations about how Danny was “fucking crazy, I swear; the dude growled at me” as he led him away and Danny brought up the rear.

Behind them, the sun was setting and the nearly full moon was rising in the sky.

~*~*~*~*~*~

That month the full moon fell on a Sunday and for that, Danny was grateful. He was doubly grateful that it wasn’t a Sunday he had Grace. The way his luck usually ran, he was surprised it hadn’t fallen in the middle of a work week on a day he’d needed to pick Grace up from her evening piano lesson, something new that she insisted she _needed_. His poor baby seemed to be a little tone deaf, but Danny gave her big points for determination and thought if she stuck with it, she may eventually get her ears trained and be pretty good.

He spent the night before with Steve. As he had done for the past week or so, Danny laid awake beside him, looking out at the moon. Eventually the pull became too much and he rose from the bed to stand in front of the window for a better view. There was a newer sense of urgency thrumming under his skin that made him want to be _closer_ to the silver face in the sky.

By sunrise, he was cagey and on edge as that shifting movement under his skin grew more insistent. He would’ve thought someone would notice it, the way his skin seemed to be stretched too tight and _squirming_. When he took a moment to actually _look_ at himself, however, he saw nothing like what he felt. His skin was the same old skin it always was and as he scratched his arm, he wondered if maybe it was a just a feeling. Except he _itched_ so fucking bad he could hardly stand it. His skin felt wrong, like it didn’t fit as it should.

“You okay?” Steve asked him that afternoon after having watched Danny scratch at himself on and off all day.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Danny said and snatched his hand away from the side of his neck where he’d been busily clawing himself.

“I’ve got some hydrocortisone cream if you think you’re allergic to something,” Steve said. “Maybe you should take a Benadryl, too.”

“I said I’m fine, leave it alone,” Danny snapped at him. That was something else—he’d been irritable as hell, snapping at Steve when he hadn’t wanted to knock him down and fuck his brains out.

Frankly, Danny was going a little crazy and beneath all of that, he was scared shitless because he had no idea what would happen when the full moon rose. What if he turned on Steve and hurt him? What if it was like the movies and he went off on a killing spree, ripping his way through half the island’s population before the moon set again?

Then he thought about the killer, the fucker responsible for everything that had happened to him and he had to wonder. The guy was a murderer, a psychotic freak of a killer, but had it been mindless? Had it been the… the… Danny had to force himself to even think it: the _wolf_? Or had it been the man using that part of himself to really go whole hog with his little hobby?

“What the hell is your problem? You’ve been a fucking dickwad all goddamned day,” Steve finally snapped back, eyes narrowing with rising anger.

Even in the face of that, Danny almost laughed because yeah, Steve really could curse like a sailor when he let loose good and proper. It was one of the things Danny had always liked so much about him, his ability to string together profanity in new and interesting ways once he got going.

“I don’t have a problem, not at all,” Danny said as he shifted on his feet. A quick glance out the window showed it was getting dark, the sun slowly beginning to set and turning the sky creamsicle orange with its glow.

“The fuck you say,” Steve said. “You haven’t been able to say a damned thing all day without being an asshole about it.”

“Really? Is that _so_?” Danny said, turning back on him, skin prickle-itching along the back of his neck. “Maybe you’re just on your rag because believe me, you sound like a chick right now.”

Steve stared at him openly for a moment and then huffed out an unamused little laugh. “I don’t know what your problem is, I really don’t, but if something is bothering you then _tell me_. And so help me if you call me a chick again, I will shove my fist down your throat.”

By that point Steve was good and pissed and Danny could see it in every line of his body. Yet, he still tried to talk to Danny, he still made an effort and for that, Danny wanted to go to him. He wanted to wrap himself around Steve and lick his face in apology—which was perfectly fucked up in every way. He didn’t want to fight with Steve; not really, he was just so wound up and stressed out that everything had been like a carrot dangling in front of him to bite at until he let off some of the tension humming in his body. Even his nerve endings felt like they were twitching and Danny was acutely aware of time slipping away from him even though he wasn’t looking at a clock or the orange sky.

He smiled at Steve, the expression showing his long, white teeth and he saw it—Steve finally noticed that one tell-tale thing that didn’t show all that much unless the person was really _looking_. It was a predatory smile, cold and hungry, but not _for_ Steve or anyone else for that matter. It only wanted _out_ and before long, Danny would have to let it. He didn’t need to be anywhere near people when it happened though. Just in case. Just in case…

“It’s not you, babe,” Danny said and shook his head, suddenly feeling very alone and very sad. There was no one he could tell about what had happened to him; about what was _still_ happening because no one would _believe_ him if he did. He couldn’t even tell Steve, who he trusted more than he had anyone in a long, long time. Steve _especially_ wouldn’t believe him.

Danny spread his hands in a placating, apologetic gesture and shook his head again as he walked over to Steve. Tapping his temple, he said, “It’s all me, you know? _All me_.” Then he laughed, the sound bitter and strangely grating in his throat, like it wasn’t all him.

“Then what is it? Are you and Rachel fighting again? Is something going on with Grace? _What?_ ” Steve asked. “You’ve… you’re… Danny, just tell me what the fuck is going on.”

 _No can do_ , Danny thought with another sad twist in his gut and it was then that he knew what he had to do. He hated lying to Steve and he was about to tell a whopper, but needs must and right then he _needed_ so much it hurt.

“I’ll reveal all after I run to the store and grab us a twelve pack,” Danny said. “Can you hold onto your suspense for that long?”

Steve narrowed his eyes at him even more, but he nodded his assent. He was still pissed off and rightfully so, but he was willing to back down if it meant Danny would come clean about whatever it was that was bothering him so much he’d turned into a royal prick overnight.

“Alright then,” Danny said, feeling more antsy by the _second_. It was like he could _hear_ the sunset, like he could feel it in his bones; some low vibration that demanded he go, go, _go_.

He reached up to hook a hand around the back of Steve’s neck and pull him down for a long, hungry kiss that made Steve’s breath hitch despite his residual anger. Danny growled into his mouth once before he made himself back away.

“I’ll be back in a few,” he lied and tried on a friendlier smile for Steve to sell his point.

“Okay,” Steve said. He was looking at Danny funny, almost like he could sense Danny was lying.

Danny turned away then and headed for the door, feeling like he wanted to run and forced himself to walk. He also felt like a rat bastard for lying to Steve so blatantly because he knew he wouldn’t be coming back tonight and come tomorrow; he’d have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. Assuming he didn’t get his ass dumped for his troubles.

Danny stopped with his hand on the doorknob and said, “Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve asked.

Looking over his shoulder at him, Danny said, “You know I love you, right?”

Steve smiled at him for that; the smile that made his eyes crinkle up at the corners and his whole face seemed to light up. “Yeah, Danny, I know,” he said.

“Good, that’s good,” Danny said and then he opened the door and walked out into the setting sun.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Two days later, a group of kids out dirt biking found Danny’s car parked three miles down an old road outside of the city limits and called it in. The only things the 5-0 team and HPD discovered when they did a search of the area were Danny’s clothes strewn in a hundred yard path that led deeper into the jungle. His left shoe was the last thing they found.

Of Danny himself, there was no trace. No hair, no skin, no blood; _nothing_.

Steve stood with the evidence bag holding Danny’s left shoe and felt like he was being slowly gutted with something dull and rusty. He looked out at all the lush, green undergrowth and refused to believe that someone—especially Danny—could simply disappear.


	2. One

“Here,” the girl says as she passes a piece of bread through the bars of the cell within her cell. “Go on, take it.”

He takes it and looks at the torn piece of stale white bread lying in his filthy palm. There’s a patch of mold on the bottom corner of the crust. He eats it anyway and it sticks in his throat, the musty taste like a fog lingering at the back of his mouth after he’s swallowed.

She hands him a morsel of her apple next and he devours it, barely noticing the half rotten flavor of the old fruit bursting with wine-like sickly sweetness across his tongue. He licks his lips and waits for more, watching as she nibbles her spare dinner that she’s kind enough to share.

“Why don’t they ever feed you?” she asks, lifting her head to peer at him through the snarls of her unwashed hair. Her eyes are dark brown, glossy like melted chocolate and huge in her heart shaped face.

He shuffles back in his pen, no longer interested in another bit of food from her hand and turns away from her puzzled, compassionate glance. She stinks of fear and still she bothers to care about him. It’s strange and leaves a sick feeling in his mostly empty stomach. He wouldn’t answer even if he could remember the words that have begun to fail him. It’s simply better that she not know why he never gets a meal.

“Okay, you… you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to,” she says. “Just… here, you can have the rest of my bread.”

The bread appears on his side of the bars and he turns his head enough to look at it before pushing her hand back towards her. 

“If you’re sure…” she hedges and partially withdraws her hand, torn between wanting the food for herself and sharing with the man beside her. “You’re just so _thin_ , I thought you may want some, but if you don’t…”

He shakes his head and pushes at her hand again, still gentle, but more insistent now.

She nods and takes her hand away at last, eating her bread with small bites to draw out her pathetic meal. “I just don’t understand why they never feed you,” she says when she’s swallowed. “I don’t understand _any_ of this.”

Her voice cracks on the last and he shuffles back as far away from her as he can get. He turns his head away again, pressing his face against the cold stone wall he’s leaning against. Outside the sun is setting and soon enough she’ll know all too well why they never bring him a meal to eat. They could just as easily do this during the day, but the Boss likes to keep things noir; classic horror genre crap because it suits his hateful insanity better.

Danny squeezes his eyes tightly closed and lets the wolf lay over his consciousness so he won’t have to think about it so intently. The wolf soothes his troubled, aching mind with its presence, muffling all of his horrible thoughts and helping to rid him of morals. The wolf knows hunger and instinct only; there is no room for guilt in its philosophy. Danny welcomes it as he closes his tired eyes and lets it pace in his mind.

At first he’d been afraid of the wolf and what it meant because he’d believed the stories and pop culture, too. He’d thought the wolf would turn him into a slavering beast come the rise of the full moon, but it didn’t. The _wolf_ isn’t what’s responsible for turning him into a monster at all, that’s been done by clever-cruel human hands. Danny shudders and whines low in the back of his throat, pressing his face harder against the wall as his stomach rumble-clenches painfully with hunger. The wolf waits, patient and calculating even in its—their—starved state.

A couple of hours later, the electronic lock on the door of his pen inside the cell clicks open and the door swings ajar a couple of inches. Danny looks over at the girl who’s watching now. She’s curious and a little afraid because this is new and in the world she’s been dragged into, nothing new can be a good thing.

He finally stands, knowing that if he doesn’t get up the electric shock from the metal panels in the floor will come; shooting pain up his legs like lightning covered needles until it feels like his brain is sizzling. He needs to get on with the show; it’s time for him to entertain his audience. The man recoils at the thought, beating his fists impotently and screaming, _No!_ at being turned into a sideshow attraction to suit the whims of some sick bastard. The wolf is furious as well, it’s not a pet and it’s not meant to be a prisoner, but the wolf is as hungry, if not hungrier, than the man. They can’t be free, but they can eat, so they must do what they can to continue surviving and wait for their time to be free.

Danny shimmies out of his ragged, too-big trousers because he can’t afford to ruin the only article of clothing he’s allowed and cocks his head. He crouches down a couple of feet from the wide-eyed girl who’s watching him with her big brown eyes. He touches her bare ankle lightly, a poor attempt at offering false reassurance; a lie that says, _I won’t hurt you_. It’s so ingrained in his nature to be caring that he can’t resist the impulse.

The wolf is sorry, too, in its own alien way; but this is about survival and even half starved, they are the predator and she is the prey. Danny feels her flinch, knows she thinks he’s going to rape her and he shakes his head, disgusted at the thought. The wolf is tight under his skin, making it prickle and tingle with what feels like static that will grow into screaming pain before it’s through. 

With a soft sound of sorrow, Danny says, “Sorry,” in a voice that sounds like it is full of broken glass. “So sorry.”

Then he steps back and hunches down on the floor as he calls the wolf all the way forward. He hears her screaming as his bones begin to snap and reshape themselves, but _they_ no longer care. Hunger is more important, even if fear makes the meat taste a little sour.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He’s licking the last of the blood from the floor grates when the shock comes, _zap!_ on the end of his soft, pink tongue. He jerks his head back with a yelping snarl as the electric charge runs through him, sharp enough to be painful, but not hard enough to kill or cause real damage. Usually he’s allowed to stay out in the larger cell after he’s played his part; put on his show like the Boss wants, but not always. Sometimes he’s herded back into the smaller pen and locked away at least for a bit because the Boss wants to come in and say hello; take a nice long look at his prized acquisition.

He shuffles back into his pen because the shocks are almost worse than the Boss. The difference is that the shocks can go on for hours or even days, the Boss comes in, has his chat and then leaves again. It’s the lesser of two evils—listen to a man he despises and dreams of tearing his throat out or be shocked repeatedly until his mind is numb and he’s pacing a long, shuffling line from one side of the cell to the other because that’s the only thing he can control.

The door to his pen slams shut and Danny crouches on his side of the bars, waiting for the Boss with his lips curled back as a growl starts deep in his chest. The main door to the cell opens and Danny feels the hackles rise along his back and neck as the Boss’s shadow fills the gap before he does.

He watches the Boss enter the room and come to stand before his pen, just out of the reach of Danny’s claws—he knows better than to get within range; knows just how much Danny hates him for what he’s done. He isn’t stupid even though he is abominably cruel and takes delight in amusing himself; talking to his “ultra rare exotic” and tormenting the man staring back at him from a wolfen face. Danny’s growl rises in crescendo and he snarls at him, snapping his teeth in his anger and wanting—God, so bad wanting—to sink his teeth into the Boss’s throat.

“Now, now, that’s enough of that,” the Boss says with a benign smile that never reaches his black eyes. “You’re in such a foul mood and to think, you just had a delicious meal. Personally, I’d think you’d be happier.” The Boss studies Danny, real merriment glinting in his eyes now. “Don’t tell me poor little Robin gave you heartburn.”

This is one of his favorite things to do—he likes telling Danny all about the people he’s being fed. Usually the people tell him themselves, if they’re there long enough, but most of them aren’t. They may be in the cell two days at most and the first day they spend crying and beating at the door, mostly unaware of Danny’s presence other than in a vague, peripheral sense because their panic overrides everything else. So, no, Danny never learned her name or anything else about her except she was _kind_ and had tried to share her supper with him.

He huffs out a breath and blinks at the Boss, fists clenching and claws digging into his rough palms. Oh, how Danny _hates_ him. 

“Mmm… right, her name was Robin Van der Auf, a sweet young thing fresh off the Nebraska farmstead, come to attend college here in Hawaii,” the Boss says. “She wanted to be a child psychologist and help all the troubled little ones with their woes and worries. Sweet isn’t it? She was so _sincere_ that I just knew I had to get her for you.”

Danny snarls at the man, the sound underscored with a distressed whine as he learns more about the girl he just… the girl he… Danny moves closer to the bars of the pen, crouched and tense as he focuses all of his attention on the man before him. The Boss is pacing a little, getting wound up in his retelling of the girl’s life. The girl with her chocolate drop brown eyes and snarled hair that she’d repeatedly tried to finger-comb out to no avail.

“What do you think her parents will believe when they’re told she’s missing? Maybe they’ll think she ran off with a boy—or a girl, mustn’t forget to be PC about it. Could be they think she’s been kidnapped and there will be a ransom note sent to their little farm toot-sweet. Honestly, they will never _believe_ that she was eaten by a _werewolf_. You’re the stuff of nightmares, my boy, not reality and _goodness_ , that’s just too precious for words isn’t it? Robin Van der Auf: Eaten by a monster and no one will never, not _ever_ think of that. It’s really brilliant, you know, if you think about it—wait.”

He pauses in his diatribe long enough to look at Danny with an expression of puzzlement. “You can still _think_ can’t you? You’ve not said much in a while and I remember you used to _never shut up_. No matter, it’s not that important I suppose,” he says with a dismissive flap of his hand as he resumes moving.

“But really, Robin had such a bright future then you went and _ate her_! I love it, I really do!” the Boss says with a laugh that is pure delight. “It’s almost like I have the hand of God—or at least _a_ god—right here at my disposal. You’re really perfect in that regard. I’d even go so far as to say you’re magnifi—”

He’s pacing wildly, using his hands to talk and Danny tracks his movements with his eyes, anger burning like cold-fire under his skin. There is something curious and familiarly painful about the way the Boss paints his words with his hand gestures. He swings close enough to Danny’s pen with his sweeping arcs as he’s talking and when he does, Danny shoots out a claw-tipped, hairy hand and grabs at him. He feels his claws rip through the lightweight linen coat the Boss is wearing and the silk shirt underneath, but he doesn’t manage to get any skin.

Still, the Boss screams, high-pitched and loud enough to hurt Danny’s sensitive ears. Danny makes a guttural sound a lot like a laugh as he crouches down on his haunches, settling his bulk to watch the man twist and flail to see if he’s injured. He shouldn’t have done that, he knows what happens when he misbehaves, but the temptation was one he couldn’t have resisted if he had tried.

Danny growls at the Boss, lips skinning back from his long, white teeth when he whirls on him. His handsome, aristocratic face is twisted into a mask of fury that would be terrifying to someone who actually cared, but lucky for Danny, he quit giving a damn about much of anything a long time ago. The wolf just wants the man to suffer for hurting them. It wants to fight and dominate; punish the interloper— _little insect_ —that torments the both of them so much and so often and has been for _so long_. In a way though, Danny and the wolf are sorry because that one act of rebellion, small though it was, is going to cause them a lot of pain.

“Sir?! Sir, are you alright?!” cries one of the guards who waits and watches Danny from the little camera mounted high on the wall out of his reach in either form.

“I’m just _dandy_ ,” the Boss spits, still staring at Danny as the guard hovers behind him. The Boss smirks at Danny and then turns away to speak directly to the guard. “Tranq him and when he’s down, bring him out and chain him up. The goddamned mongrel needs to relearn his manners. This shirt cost me five hundred dollars. Wretched beast!”

Then he’s gone and Danny hunkers down close to the floor of his cage, trying to make himself a smaller target even though he’s huge when he’s like this.

It isn’t long before the main door opens again and another guard appears with the tranq gun in his hand. Danny feels the pinch-sting of the dart burying itself in the side of his neck. He growls, but stays where he is and doesn’t thrash or snap his jaws at the air; he simply lets the tranquilizer take him gently. He stopped trying to fight it a long time ago because there’s no point. The tranquilizer does its job in short order and for a brief while at least, Danny’s world fades to nothing but a pleasant blur.

He only comes out of it when the first snap of the lash cuts through his heavy, golden blonde pelt and into the skin of his back. After that, he is wide awake for a long time and then he does fight, screaming his rage as he thrashes against the heavy chains holding him. He fights until he simply cannot anymore and then he hangs from his shackles, eyes glassy and jaws flecked with foamy spit streaked with blood.

~*~*~*~*~*~

By the time they drag him back into the cell, Danny is drugged again and bleeding from multiple lacerations from the beating. His body cries with pain and yet he doesn’t whimper or whine or otherwise plead for mercy—the wolf does not beg and neither does Danny Williams.

He lies on the nasty floor of the cell and drools blood onto the metal plates. He’s panting, out of breath that he can’t seem to catch and half unconscious from the screaming pain coursing through him. _Bad, bad dog_ , the Boss had chanted at him interspersed with curses of _Worthless animal!_ as he’d beat him, staying lithely out of reach of Danny’s teeth and claws, although his movement was already severely hindered by the chains used to hold him.

He’s not an animal, he’s _not_ and he never has been. These people have heard him speak, listened to his rants and rages that slowly became pleas over time, but eventually stopped because it disgusted the wolf and the man. They were pleading for a quarter that would not be granted anyway and they’d known that after awhile. They know there is someone inside the wolf, but they don’t care one whit about that and in some ways, Danny thinks that makes them hate-fear him even more. It’s easier to call him a freak of nature or a _stupid fucking dog_ than it is to accept that he is also a man. Even if he was nothing more than a mangy cur, what they do is _wrong_ and there is no forgiveness for the kind of pain and abuse they inflict.

Danny heaves out a painful breath and drags himself across the metal floor, the constant wondering fear about whether or not it will shock him this time a nagging sing-song in the back of his cloudy feeling mind. He hurts too much to fully focus on that worry as he moves himself further from the door, wanting to be as far away from the room where all of his hurt came from as he possibly can.

When he’s back inside his pen, Danny presses against the cool stone wall. That helps to ease some of the pain, but very little. The stones he rests against are stained with his blood from the many beatings that have come before. He blinks and pants, staring at nothing as blood mats his fur and runs in strings from his bitten tongue. The wounds will be nearly healed in two, maybe three, days time because his body repairs itself quicker than normal. The scars though, those will remain for the rest of Danny’s life, new additions to the dozens of others carved into his flesh.

He blinks slowly and feels the way his muscles quiver with aching exhaustion as he lets himself drift towards unconsciousness. As he drifts in the grey area between awake and asleep, Danny hears a voice that is a dream, which is a recollection of a life he can barely hold on to the memories of most of the time. That voice is saying, “Danno!” with excited pride.

“No, sweetheart, that’s Daddy,” a woman’s voice gently corrects.

“Danno!” says that sweet, piping voice again.

He hears laughter, his own, he thinks and the woman’s, too. As Danny sinks further down, fog-grey becoming charcoal grey, he sees a pair of chubby legs and the hem of a purple skirt with blue daisies on it. Those little legs are toddling determinedly towards him and there are outstretched hands, pudgy and smeared with frosting.

“Dan—” _Hic!_ ”—no!” _Hic!_ “Dannoooo!”

“Grace, darling, it’s—” the woman cuts in and Danny sees his human arms—different then, not as thin, not as scarred, but still his—reach out to scoop up the gleeful, hiccupping, pudgy _joy_ that is called Grace and makes his heart swell with love.

“I like Danno just fine, Rach, don’t worry about it,” Danny tells the woman and that’s it—her name is _Rachel_ and that was a lifetime ago. Someone else’s lifetime.

Danny whines miserably and tries to find a comfortable position to lie in, but there is no such thing given his condition. He could slide back into his other skin, but that would hurt even more and as it is, this one feels better to him right now, more comfortable. _Safer_ and not as fragile. That other skin knew Rachel and Grace and was called Danno with a hiccupping, giggly voice.

That other skin had Grace and that other skin’s Grace had big brown eyes in a heart-shaped face and—

Lying right there on the floor, covered in blood and racked with pain both inside and out, Danny screams an animal scream of sorrow and grief at the wall. He screams and screams then finally, he howls, the sound raw and wavering in the small space until his voice gives out. He slumps back against the metal grates completely, panting all over again and the fur on his face wet with something other than blood.

All of those things seem so long ago to Danny as he lays on the floor shivering and alone. Blinking slowly, he licks the foam away from his jaws and then starts laving at the fur on the back of his hand. His runs his soft, sore tongue along his dirty coat to soothe himself while he waits for sleep to come for him; offering relief he otherwise will not find.


	3. Two

Steve looks up when he hears the sound of the elevator door dinging as it slides open. He knows it’s Grace, she called him an hour ago and asked if it was okay to come by today. Of course he had said yes, in all the years that have gone by, never once has he refused her anything if he could help it, not when it comes to this. He gets up from his desk and goes to meet her in the hallway.

When Grace sees him, she smiles and waves, picking up her pace to come greet Steve and he smiles back. She hugs him when she gets to him, wrapping her arms around him and giving him a good squeeze.

“Hi, Uncle Steve,” Grace says and tilts her head back to look up at him.

Steve looks down at her and takes note of everything he sees like he always does; cataloging little details the best he can. She’s started wearing makeup now, not much because Rachel won’t let her, but there’s the shine of lip gloss and the shimmer of pearlescent eye shadow. It’s a green-gold shade that picks up the gold in her dark eyes that are far too somber for a twelve year old. She wears her hair down most of the time now and keeps it long, waves of it brushing the backs of her thighs when she walks. She’s taller; too, she’s got a good inch or two on Danny now and how that would gall him for his little girl to have to bend down a little to hug him. Even better; she’s not done growing yet.

She’s gotten Rachel’s height along with her coloring, but she’s got Danny’s tendency to talk with her hands. Sometimes she’ll say “yous guys”, but she calls an elevator a lift and there’s a faint hint of Rachel’s accent, noticeable particularly in her Rs, but she has none of Danny’s Jersey accent. She has his smile though and his laugh. She has a mix of both her parents’ impressive tempers—something that’s gotten her sent home from school twice this year. If she messes up a third time, she’s going to get suspended. Steve expects it any day because she also has Danny’s tendency to not know when to shut up once she gets going on a rant.

As they step apart, Steve feels a twisting pang in his gut while he watches Grace take her backpack off and hold it with one hand while unzipping it with the other. All these years he’s been watching Danny’s daughter grow up and he can never shake the feeling of how _wrong_ it is that he’s the one privy to all of this and not Danny. Steve has seen her grow from a cute little girl with braids in her hair into a beautiful young woman who’s already gone on her first kinda-sorta date. He’d sat in the theater lobby with Rachel while Grace and her suitor watched the movie. Right up until Grace came storming out of the theater, red-faced and furious.

“He tried to stick his hand up my shirt!” she’d yelled for all and sundry to hear when Rachel had caught her and asked what was wrong.

That had gotten Steve to his feet and he’d gone over to Grace and asked, “You want me to kick his ass?”

“Nah,” Grace said, already calming down though her chest was still heaving a bit. “I punched him in the balls already.”

“Grace Williams!” Rachel gasped, trying not to laugh and failing. “Language!”

“Well, I did,” Grace said back and then huffed out a breath. “Can we go? This sucks.”

Steve had been doubled up laughing, but he’d straightened and nodded. “Sure, we can go get some shave ice if you want and it’s okay with your mom.”

He’d looked at Rachel who raised an eyebrow at him and said, “You’re the one driving. _My car_ , I might add. Which, by the way, what’ve you done with my keys, Steven?”

Steve produced them from one of his pockets and swung them on his finger. “Let’s go then,” he said as he’d started walking away.

Rachel had caught up with him and said quietly so that Grace didn’t hear, “I understand quite well why Daniel was always annoyed with you.”

Steve’s answering smile had been tight as they’d walked to the car. He’d thought about the Camaro resting under a tarp in his garage, patiently waiting for its owner to come back and retrieve it.

Grace finds what she’s looking for her in her backpack and waves a blue card envelope at Steve, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Can I?” she asks.

“Sure, Gracie,” Steve says. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

Grace shrugs and looks at the card in her hand. “His birthday was on Thursday, but I couldn’t come because I had to practice for my recital.”

Steve nods and says, “I know,” about Danny’s birthday. Grace reminds him and Rachel every year, but they never forget. Grace is afraid they will though and to her mind, Steve has figured out, if they forget then that means Danny is gone for good. It’s things like that which remind Steve of how young she still really is. “How’s your mom?”

“Okay.” Grace looks relieved to hear that Steve hasn’t forgotten either. “Mom’s fine, she’s been really busy with work lately, but we’re going shopping tomorrow and she said something about getting pedicures, too.”

“That sounds like… fun,” Steve says and Grace laughs at him.

“It is, if you’re a girl,” Grace says. “What are you doing this weekend?”

Steve looks away for a moment and then back at Grace. “You know… stuff.”

“You’re going back to the woods, huh?” Grace asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says. There’s no point in denying it, he goes back to where they found Danny’s car three years ago every weekend if they’re not working a case. He can’t _not_ look anymore than he can stop breathing.

Grace purses her lips and nods, an expression she’s picked up from Rachel. When she looks at Steve though her eyes are full of hope that hasn’t yet begun to fade, but it will soon and Steve knows it. Eventually she’s going to quit thinking Danny’s ever coming back. She’ll always remember her Danno, but Steve worries that as time goes by, she’ll come to resent him and be angry. Maybe, if he’s honest, Steve’s a little worried that he’ll do the same thing one day.

“If you find Daddy, call me, okay?” Grace says.

It kills Steve to hear that hope in her voice because it sounds far too much like the hope he carries with him like a noose around his neck.

“You bet I will,” he tells her and smiles again.

“Good,” Grace says. Then she looks down at the card again. She’s anxious to go leave her token for Danny’s ghost.

Steve blinks when he thinks that, thinks _ghost_ and feels his gut twist again.

“I’m gonna go leave his card now,” Grace says and Steve nods.

“Take all the time you want,” he says. Grace nods then gives him a quick one armed hug before stepping around him to go leave Danny’s birthday card.

She’s been coming since Danny went missing, at first with Rachel and now she comes alone sometimes, too. She’s old enough to take the bus and she’s a trustworthy kid who, thanks to Steve, Chin and Kono, is also more than capable of kicking someone’s ass if they try to give her grief. Grace leaves Danny cards and notes, sometimes presents, on his desk in his old office that Steve has left unchanged and unoccupied for the past three years.

Steve would rather share his office with someone than let them take Danny’s. He has nothing against adding another member to the team, but he couldn’t bear to see someone else in that office, behind that desk. He won’t _replace_ Danny.

In turn, Danny’s office has become a kind of tomb or shrine for their shared grief and tenaciously lingering hope. There is a pile of cards on his desk blotter for Father’s Day, Christmas, Valentine’s, Halloween, his birthday and so on. He’s got little notes, some written on construction paper when Grace was younger; now they’re written on pretty stationery. Then of course there are the presents, mostly ties if the shapes of the boxes are anything to go by, waiting in their bright paper and fancy bows for Danny to come back and open them.

It’s the most depressing goddamned thing Steve has ever seen, but he won’t make Grace stop anymore than he’s made himself stop sitting in there on nights he’s got the office to himself and the bottle of Johnny Walker Red in his desk has been out and about. Sometimes he thinks he should tell her no when she calls to ask if she can come by. He’s not doing Grace any favors, not really. The more he lets her continue doing this, the longer she’s going to hold onto Danny and be unable to move on with the rest of her life.

Steve is not a fool; he knows some of her outbursts at school don’t all have to do with her bad mix of parentally inherited temperament. Grace’s grades are still excellent, perhaps better than they were before Danny disappeared, but she has very few friends now and gets into fights with her classmates. That and Grace Williams is the saddest girl Steve thinks he’s ever seen. On the surface, no, not so much—she hides it well—but it lurks in her eyes and the way her smile, so much like Danny’s, is never as big as it used to be.

After Danny disappeared like Alice through the looking glass, Grace had been scared, but had still thought he’d come back when they told her. “Don’t worry, Uncle Steve, Danno’ll be okay,” she had told him with the supreme confidence of a nine year old. “You’ll find him.”

She’d smiled at Steve, given him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. At first, she had taken it better than he had. Then a month passed and then two and then three and one day the elevator door had dinged and he’d gone out to find Rachel standing with Grace.

“She wants to leave her father a Valentine’s card,” Rachel had said. “May she?”

Steve had said yes and he’s not stopped saying yes since then even though he really does think he should. He also thinks sometimes about filing a petition to have Danny declared legally dead before the seven years are up, too. It wouldn’t be that hard to do, not with what he does and who he is and really, he doesn’t think Rachel would fight him on it.

Since they’re in the state of Hawaii, Danny’s family back in Jersey has no real say about it, though what he’d tell Danny’s mom or dad or his sisters when they called him to ask if he had anything new, he cannot say. He can say that telling them that he had their son and brother declared dead _in absentia_ would land him a pile of short, angry people on his stoop. He’d likely get his ass kicked for the trouble and thing is, he wants to have Danny declared dead about as much as he wants to tell Grace, _Quit dreaming, kid, your daddy’s gone and he’s never coming back._ Which is to say, not at all.

Of course if Steve did any of those things then he’d also have to believe it, too and he can’t do that. Grace would hate him for it and that’s something else he can’t stand the idea of. So he doesn’t do it and doesn’t think he ever will either. He can’t let go and he can’t move on, just like Grace and the rest of Danny’s family. Sometimes he thinks it would be easier if he could and _this_ is one time he wishes something was truly easy. He could sign a piece of paper, have a memorial service and move the fuck on. Except he wouldn’t. He’d still idle around, secretly waiting for Danny to come _home_ with that promised twelve pack of beer and a smile on his face, ready to tell him all about whatever it was that had maybe-possibly been the reason he’d left after all. If Steve declared him dead, what would he say when Danny came back? _Sorry, you can’t be here, you’re legally dead._

The image of the fit Danny would have, all the hand waving, yelling glory of it spins through Steve’s head and he cracks a smile as he slips back into his office to finish the order form for printer ink he was working on. He doesn’t wait for her or go with her to Danny’s office anymore and he knows that when she’s done, she won’t feel like talking anyway.

He glances at his watch once he’s sat down. It’s 4:30. In another half hour, he can call it a day and head out to the woods to spend his weekend chasing down his own ghosts.

~*~*~*~*~*~

By the time the last of the light has faded from the sky, Steve has already made camp deep within the forest. It doesn’t take him very long to cover the now familiar ground and he makes excellent time tromping his way through the undergrowth and brambles.

As he sits before his small campfire, sipping from his flask, Steve wonders what it is he thinks he’s going to find out here now. He sometimes thinks he keeps coming out here, secretly hoping to find bones because at least then he could have closure. Danny could’ve been taken at any point between these woods and the end of Steve’s driveway. Maybe he’s not the one that drove the Camaro out here and parked it then wandered into the forest to toss his clothes aside.

Except that isn’t right either. The footprints they’d found in the soft red clay of the road had been Danny’s and there’d only been one set of prints in that clay. Steve is trying to make sense out of the nonsensical by making up things that fit better. Steve likes logic and order, but there is nothing _logical_ and _orderly_ about the mystery of Danny’s disappearance.

Steve swigs from his flask and stares into the dancing flames of his campfire, watching the small lives of the insects drawn to the light burning up in its heat like fluttering scraps of paper. He wonders if it hurts and coughs out a bitter sounding laugh at the morbid thought. He looses a sigh after another swig from his flask and then uses a stick to turn the potato he’s got roasting in the coals before settling against his pack again.

Tilting his head back this time, Steve looks up through the silhouetted boughs of the trees to the stars winking through them and presses his lips into a thin, frustrated line. People don’t just _disappear_ , not like Danny did and even more to the point—people _like_ Danny don’t drive their cars out to the middle of nowhere and decide to go for a twilight hike in the _nude_. What must he have been thinking to do such a thing? What had compelled Danny of the, “nature, it’s on me, _get it off_ ” mindset to stroll into the forest where there are bugs and poison ivy and wild boars with sharp, sharp tusks?

Those are questions Steve has asked himself almost everyday for the past three years, four months and twenty days. He still has no answers. What he has is the sad honor of watching Danny’s daughter growing up, a tendency to drink too much, too often and a feeling of loneliness that seems to be sucking him dry. Before Danny, Steve had never really been lonely. He’d been alone a lot, but there is a big difference between _lonely_ and _alone_.

Now… now he’s _lonely_ and Steve never really knew how much something like that could hurt. Then again, with touching sentiments like that, Steve should maybe divorce himself from the lonely column and move on over into the pathetic column. There are days when he’s not working or hanging out with Chin, Kono or Kamekona—or all of the above—and has only his thoughts and the tie Danny left hanging off the back of a kitchen chair for company that Steve really thinks he’s losing his mind.

He’s not though, he’s just incredibly sad.

With a shake of his head, Steve snaps himself out of his maudlin thoughts with a muttered, “Goddamnit,” and sits up again to check his potato.

A glimmer of light to the northeast catches Steve’s attention for a second and then he realizes it’s a light from the grand house sitting back a few miles deeper in. It’s a well hidden old estate and they’d been startled to find it on their initial search, but the man who’d come down to greet them had been dapperly dressed and pleasant to speak with.

Mr. Thomas Bailey Cream welcomed them into his home and listened sympathetically as they told him they were conducting a search for a missing officer. He’d been stunned to hear that Danny had gone missing on his property and had promised them full access to the estate, of which there are acres, most of which is forestland. He lacked the bred-in snobbery that seemed to accompany most people from old money and Steve liked the man. He liked him even more when, after the official search had been called off, Steve found the main drive to the property, went right up to the front door and asked if he could hike around the land to do some looking on his own.

“Certainly, Commander McGarrett,” Thomas Cream had told him with an understanding smile that lacked any patronizing edge. “Consider the invitation open from here on. You come whenever you like and if ever you find yourself low on supplies, by all means, don’t hesitate to come by and ask. I’ll be happy to help.”

Steve has never taken him up on that offer because he’s never needed to. He’s trained to survive off rainwater and grub worms if the going gets tough enough, so there’s no point. As he turns his potato in the coals again, Steve does have to admit he’s glad he doesn’t need to do anything like that now. He does sometimes wonder what his old SEAL team would think if they knew Commander Steven J. McGarrett now spends his weekends in the woods looking for his lost partner. He thinks some would be okay with it and others would decidedly _not_ be, but that’s the way it goes everywhere, not just in the military.

He’s entertained the idea of having himself reinstated to full active duty, but he can’t do that either. No matter how much he’d welcome the escape of it, he cannot bring himself to make that one call. He’s _stuck_ in this forest even when he’s miles away from it, looking for a man who’s most likely dead. If he isn’t dead then he’s abandoned everyone he knows and loves for some unbeknownst reason. Steve is sure he’s not the only person to ever ask themselves: _How can I let go of that?_

He’s never been good at letting things go and moving on anyway, but that has usually worked in his favor. Two and a half years ago they finally caught Wo Fat and it was the happiest Steve has been in a long time. But even that happiness had been tempered by Danny’s absence; by the _lack_ of him being there to join in the celebration. The victory had been sour-bitter-sweet in Steve’s throat because of it.

Another long pull from his flask and Steve sits forward again to roll his potato out of the coals and away from the fire to cool before he eats. While he waits, he drinks more and tries really hard not to think anymore.

Eventually, the alcohol and the tiredness of the day take care of that and Steve falls asleep in front of the fire, potato forgotten.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Danny paces in his cell from one end to the other, head swinging stupidly from side to side like a silent metronome. He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking. He’d been awakened that morning—maybe it was morning—to the shocks running through him long and slow. The electricity had slid along his skin like millions of prickly-legged ants crawling on him and then burrowing beneath his flesh to nest there.

He’s still being punished for tearing the Boss’s shirt, Danny knows that much. He’d railed against the shocks for a little while, but slowly—though not as slowly as in the beginning—he’d stopped doing that and started pacing instead. Long, slow sweeps from one side of the cell to the other and soon, his head had started swinging to and fro as well. It keeps the pain from being too much and stops him from being scared, from fretting about when the next shock will come. It, like the wolf, keeps him safe.

Danny is dimly aware of being in pain because there’s so _much_ of it. His back and shoulders from the lash the night before and now the soles of his feet, which feel tender and burned. The shocks are low voltage, but repetition brings pain and eventual injury; there are scars on the soles of Danny’s wolf-feet and human-feet to show it, too. One body’s scars translate to the other and some are worse looking on the man because there is less of him for them to spread out and no fur to cover them. But all that really matters _right now_ is left and right; right and left, walk and swing; keep moving to keep the thinking out.

The floor has been on for a solid ten minutes now, but Danny doesn’t actually know that, he only knows it is crawling all over him and making his fur prickle out on end along his calves and the ridge of his spine. He can feel it, but not, it’s a dim sensation and not much more. He’s tired though, he’s been pacing for a long time now and there’s a part of him that wants to lie down and rest, but if he stops then he doesn’t know what will happen. If he keeps walking then he knows that—he’ll go left then he’ll go right and back again.

Then the shocks do stop and for a while, Danny paces on until eventually his knees buckle from exhaustion and he falls to the floor on his side, panting and drooling, his eyes dull and far away. There is a brief crackle of static from the little box mounted by the watching camera and Danny tenses all over again. Nothing good ever comes over the intercom.

He sighs, the exhale rumbling with a tired growl as he lies there and waits. The wolf doesn’t care about the mean things they say, it only hates the sound of the Boss’s voice. It cares that the words bother Danny though because there’s a part of him that still listens although he tries not to and the wolf hates them even more for that. Danny is the wolf and the wolf is Danny, but somewhere along the way they’ve begun to fracture apart and separate like cream from milk. Danny knows that like the wolf knows it and they both know that’s not right either, that it isn’t supposed to be that way. Danny thinks that most likely means something very bad, but like with most things, he can’t find it in himself to give a damn. All he wants is _out_ and that’s what most of his thoughts are composed of. _Out_ and _hate_ and _want to go home_ and _food_ and _kill you, Boss_. Sometimes he doesn’t know if it’s him or the wolf who thinks those things, perhaps it’s both of them nodding along with each other in agreement.

“I think you’ve had enough for now,” the Boss says and Danny’s ears flick forward then lay back tight against his skull. The Boss laughs and that’s something else Danny and the wolf hate: the sound of the Boss’s laughter, low and husky. It may’ve been a nice laugh coming from someone else, but from him it sounds like Death giggling over the Black Plague.

Danny pushes himself up off the floor with shaking limbs and still in a partial stupor, tries to crawl away from the sound of that voice. There’s really nowhere to go except into his pen which is at the back of the main cell. So that’s where he goes with painstaking slowness and the whole time, the intercom is quiet, the camera is watching. In that silence, Danny can hear the sound of his own breathing and the rumble of his once again empty stomach.

Once he’s inside his pen, pressed against the same familiar bloodstained stone, the Boss speaks again: “He’s still looking for you, you know. He’s out there _right now_ in front of a campfire.” The Boss laughs then goes on, “How pathetically love-struck is _that_? He’s such an attractive man, yet he’s still out wasting his weekends looking for a banged up old mutt like you. But tell me: Do you think he’d still want you if he could see you now?”

With that the intercom goes dead and the dim blue light in the middle of the room blinks off, leaving Danny in total darkness, blinking at nothing. He thinks The Boss is gone for now and it’s over for a little while; that he’ll be able to rest. Then that static crackle comes again and the Boss clears his throat over the speaker.

What he says next makes Danny’s skin twitch and his stomach flips. “I was wondering something else: How hungry do you think you’d have to be? Hmm?” With that last, the Boss is blissfully, wonderfully _gone_ for the time being, but he’ll be back because he _always_ comes back.

Danny knows who and what the Boss is talking about. He’s talking about Steve, his Steve; Steve who he still loves very much and misses when he can’t stop the thoughts from tiptoeing into his mind. Steve is the man who drove his car all the time and hung people off buildings. He told Danny he had _tone_ , whatever that means because he can’t really remember anymore. The Boss is talking about putting Steve in here with him one day maybe and Danny shivers at the thought, doesn’t think he could _ever_. Then again, he used to think that about all the others who’ve come before. If he did that to Steve though then he may as well be dead because there’s no way he could live after that.

Danny whines miserably and nestles closer to the wall, finding comfort in the unyielding stone. He thinks about how Steve used to make him laugh and Danny was kind of mean to Steve the last time he ever got to see him. He lied to him and left and never got to go back. It’s all so bad and it makes Danny’s chest hurt like a hand wrapping its fingers in his insides and squeezing on all the vital bits.

It hurts like “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” being clumsily played on a piano. It hurts like, “Dan—” _Hic!_ “—no!” It hurts like everything from before and in some ways, it hurts even more and it hurts the wolf, too.

Danny’s good memories burn him all over, worse than the floor grates ever could. At first he’d held onto them, reliving them again and again until he couldn’t tell what was memory and what was fantasy he’d invented to soothe his mind. Now when they try to surface—Steve in the semi-dark, leaning down to kiss him even as he says, “If you hit me, I’ll understand”—he pushes them away because all they do is remind him of everything he cannot have. So, more than anything else, _thinking_ hurts.

Danny takes a deep breath and when he does, he feels his stomach sink in. It feels like it is touching his spine and once more, all he—they—can think is _out_ and _food_. They’ve made up their mind, Danny and the wolf, they’re going to figure out a way to escape from the Boss because if not, they will die here if from nothing more than loneliness and neglect. Or even worse, one day they will shock him back into his pen and lock the door so they can throw Steve into this hell-pit with him.

There will be dire consequences if they fail in the attempt, but hunger and pain have left the man desperate and the wolf mean. Together, they can maybe be free and that’s the one good thought Danny lets himself have as his eyes slide closed.

When he dreams, Danny dreams of Steve’s laughter and the feel of his breath, hot on the side of his neck in the dark. He dreams of lifting his gore-streaked muzzle from the ruins of that beloved body and screaming his horror at the sky while someone plays “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” in the background.


	4. Three

Danny is crouched down in his pen once more and watching the men hose off the floor of the cell. They come maybe once a month, usually the day after he’s eaten, but since he was being punished, it had to wait. No matter how much they clean though the room always stinks to Danny, but he’s gotten used to the smells that permeate this place that is his hated home. Damp stone and green-musty lichen tickle his sensitive nostrils and the industrial cleaner they use to scrub the blood and waste off the metal floor makes him sneeze-sneeze-sneeze until his eyes are watering and the fur around them is matted with that wetness.

He cocks his head and shuffles closer to the bars, claw-tipped fingers touching the door of his pen. He cuts his eyes to the side to make sure it’s still really-real because it’s stopped hurting now, pain has led to numbness, but when he looks his tail is still there; wedged in the heavy door. He can smell his own blood and see where it wells up around where the edge of the door is cutting into it. He can only hope it hasn’t been cut off at the end; he kind of likes his tail; he strokes it for comfort sometimes because it’s better than chewing on his fingers or licking them until the hair is laved away, the skin underneath left raw and chafed.

Danny yelped when the door swung to on his tail quicker than he could shuffle his bulk inside the pen before they started shocking him. The face—a man, the only man here that has _ever_ talked nice to him—had appeared in the little slot in the main door and asked him to go inside his pen so the others could come clean.

“Don’t be stubborn and make them shock you, Danny,” he’d said, sorrow in his grey eyes. “There’s been too much of that lately, so come on, be a good boy.”

He says Danny’s _name_ and he talks to him like he’s a person even when he’s wearing his other skin. He _knows_ there is a man in there like all the others do, but he’s the only one who has ever seemed to care. Danny likes him for that, too, very much… but he’s also never tried to help Danny or make them stop hurting-starving-torturing him and for that, Danny kind of hates him almost just as much.

He shakes his head and lightly touches his bloody tail and feels his lip twitch when that one touch wakes up the sleeping pain again. It throbs and pulses like an aching heartbeat and Danny shuffles even closer to the bars, pressing his long snout through them to breathe deep of the air leaking into the room from the _open door_ of the main cell. He knows his tail is hurt and while he wants to keep it for petting when he’s sad, it’s also a sacrifice he’s willing to make because his tail stopped the latch from catching on his pen door. He didn’t hear it click and it _always_ clicks. All he needs to do is shove the door hard enough and then he and the wolf can be free.

The wolf is impatient, but nervous and it hums through Danny as well. He’s hesitating and that’s so _stupid_ , but he’s afraid, too, a tiny (whole, whole lot) bit. He knows what will happen if he doesn’t make it out this time because he’s tried before and he hurt so very badly after for days and days and days on end. It is how he learned about silver and what it could do to him, how it can burn and split his skin. It’s one of the few things the legends got _right_.

Danny and the wolf hate silver and they fear silver-pain because it doesn’t heal like other wounds and it bleeds and stinks. He got an infection and the Boss was furious no one had treated him and then they had and that, too, had hurt. Danny’s world is a pinpoint focus of pain and hunger; the want to alleviate one drives him to be free and the fear of the other causes him to hesitate as he watches the men cleaning the floor of the cell. Then he thinks about Steve and how one day he _will_ end up in here with Danny because now that the Boss has thought of it, he will do it; Danny knows that. 

He huffs out a deep breath and one of the men cleaning the floor glances nervously over his shoulder at him. “Why’s it watching us like that?” he asks his partner.

“Just ignore it, the damn thing’s crazy, but it ain’t gonna do nothin’ to you; it can’t,” the other one says.

“It never watches us like that though,” the first says. “It’s looking at me like… like…”

“Like it wants to eat you?” the other one asks and then laughs. “Stop worrying about the Boss’s pet freak; he can’t get to you, Clovis.”

“That thing bugs me out though,” the first one—Clovis, like _clover_ , but not, Danny thinks—says. “It’s a fucking _monster_ and we’re in here with it. I don’t like it looking at me with those messed up eyes.”

“It’s a stupid fucking animal, that’s what the Boss says,” the other one says.

“Well, it ain’t and we both know that,” Clovis says. “I’ve seen it when it looks like a man, too and so’ve you, Earl.”

“Yeah, but it ain’t acted like a man in a long damned time, now has it?” Earl asks. “The Boss says there won’t be no man left after awhile. I reckon that’s the way he wants it to be, too. So quit with your whinin’ and get to cleanin’, I want my goddamned break sometime this year.”

Danny feels a soft growl bubble up in his throat at their words. They think he’s stupid and that he doesn’t—can’t—understand what they’re saying, but he does. They _both_ do. He leans some of his still considerable weight against the door and feels it slide a little along his hurting tail and then catch again, tangled up in the thick fur. He huffs out another breath and knows how badly it’s going to hurt because he’s going to have to shove to get the door open, but that’s okay, so long as he gets _out_.

“I swear to holy Christ that door just moved,” Clovis says, jerking around again all the way to stare at Danny. The light is bad and the door isn’t open enough for anyone to tell it really unless they’re closer, but he squints and tries to see anyway. “Earl, I don’t think the door caught.”

“ _Shut up_ , Clovis!” Earl snaps at him. “Ignore the damned _dog_ and finish your _job_.”

Being called a _dog_ runs through Danny and the wolf like scalding water and he slams his shoulder against the door with a snarl ripping out of his throat. They are not a _dog_ anymore than they are “a stupid fucking animal”. His anger outweighs his fear of punishment and as the door scrapes over his tail, the fresh wash of pain only enrages him more as he charges out of his pen and right for the two men who’ve been talking about him like he can’t comprehend their hateful words.

When his jaws slam closed on Clovis’s throat, Danny the triumphant thrill of it runs through him in a rush of power. The hot blood in his mouth tastes like _victory_. He shakes his burly head once, hears Clovis’s neck snap-crackle-pop and then tears his teeth away with a wet ripping sound.

Earl is already out the door, screaming as he runs, “He’s out; the damned thing got out! Shut the door! _Shut the fucking door!_ ”

The door does start to swing closed and Danny’s heart lobs with panicking fear. He can’t have come this far only to get shut up in here again. He _can’t_ have. He lunges for the door and it kind of wows him even in such a state at how close he’d come to forgetting how much faster he moves now.

He makes it through the door before it’s even halfway closed and charges straight for Earl’s fleeing back. He doesn’t growl or snarl, he moves with silent predatory intent and when he reaches good old Earl, Danny grabs him around the waist, long claws sinking into his soft flesh all the way to his fingertips before he yanks them back and around, tearing open Earl’s sides and back. As he starts to fall to the ground, still screaming, now all wordless sounds of horror, Danny bites the back of his neck and feels those bones snap under his powerful jaws as well.

There are two others and they have guns with darts meant to make him lie down and go to sleep. One of the darts goes through the tip of his ear and he can feel the bad drugs dripping down his coat and he flicks his ear to try and shake it free. At least it went through and didn’t pierce his flesh. He’s harder to hit when he’s moving, when he’s not backed into a corner in a small pen to make him an easier target. It’s still so, so close and that does make Danny snarl again as he whirls and goes for the man who tried to _stop_ him.

The fear in his eyes is like sweet wine as Danny bears down on him and uses his claws to disembowel the bastard. Then he goes for the other man who is trying desperately to reload his dart gun and as Danny comes down on him like one of the Furies, the man screams, too. He says, “No” and “Please” and he begs for “God” and “Have mercy, dear lord, have mercy”.

Danny has forgotten the meaning of the word and it’s nothing to him when his fangs sink into the man’s face and his jaws close, crushing through his cheek bones and forehead. He’s still alive and he’s still screaming-begging, but Danny only tears his throat out because all the noise he’s making is hurting Danny’s ears. Perhaps that is mercy in its own right, but not the kind the man was begging for. 

Danny wags his bleeding tail, satisfied at the ruins in front of him then he slinks his way into the main arena, more cautious now because this is where much of his pain has been gouged into his flesh. There is only one man there and Danny crouches low to the ground, preparing to spring on him. He’s unarmed and his skin is so thin it would tear like paper. Then he sees those sad grey eyes and hesitates for a second.

The man points to another door and nods his head. “That way is outside,” he says. “Go up the stairs, take a left and then _run_ , Danny. Do you hear me? _Run_.”

Danny cocks his head and flicks his ears forward to full attention even though one lists to the side, made heavier by the dart still hanging from it. He feels his lips pull back from his teeth as he tries to decide if this one should live or die.

“Do what you’ve gotta do,” the man says and spreads his hands wide, tilting his head back to offer his throat. “I don’t blame you.”

That act of submission is what decides Danny and he coils himself up tighter and springs for the heavy steel door. He moves so closely to the man he jostles against him and sends him reeling into the wall, but then his claws are slipping on the door as he tries to work the handle. It comes open with a buzzing sound and he looks over his shoulder to see Sad Grey Eyes with a black controller in his hand.

He mouths, _Run_ , at Danny again and so Danny does.

No one else tries to stop him as he hits the polished wood floor of a long hallway, feet sliding on the smooth surface. He wants the Boss, wants him so much he can taste his meat in his mouth. He’s one that Danny would eat, would tear apart and leave nothing but specks behind and he would _like_ it. He wants the Boss to suffer and know all of Danny’s pain and fear, but he’s nowhere to be found in the long hallway and he’s only got so much time before others come for him; he knows that. With one last grating snarl, he turns left and runs again, feet still skidding on the shiny wood floor. He finds a door in a hidden alcove, bright silver-blue light from a half moon bleeding through where it’s opened a sliver. 

Danny grabs at it, yanks it all the way open and then he’s _out_ in the night air that’s cool-warm and balmy. The wind is in his fur and he breathes deep of the fresh air, jaws cracking open to pant and lick at the breeze that tickles him as he careens down a steep hill and into the forest beyond. As he runs, he forgets hunger and fear and pain for a little while and only knows _freedom_ and _outside_ and the dark blue velvet sky above him prickled all over with burning diamond stars.

He throws his head back and howls his triumph at the night sky, sharing his joy with Mother Moon above him. Then he’s off again while the echo of his howl still rolls through the night air, eerie and heard for miles around.

Danny doesn’t know where he is right now, but he knows where he’s going and that’s good enough.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Once he no longer has the trees to hide him, Danny slows down and slinks his way back into the city. The going gets even slower there because he has to be extra- _extra_ careful and spends his time sliding from alleyways to deeper pools of shadow then back to alleys again. The sights and sounds, the smells and lights, of the city leave Danny feeling skittish and unnerved. He’s hyperaware of every noise and bright light that hurts his eyes.

He’s been down in the dark and mostly silent cell for a very long time now and he’s not used to all of this anymore. It scares him a little and leaves him on edge as he slips down yet another alley, his hazy memory guiding him to where he wants to go. He remembers the house and driveway with perfect clarity, but the route has gone fuzzy in his mind; he made it back into the city so quickly simply because he saw the lights and followed them. Now that he’s here, it’s hard to remember where _Steve_ is.

Danny crouches behind a dumpster and tugs at his ear as he tries to think. The dart is still dangling there and with a soft growl, he finally yanks it free and tosses it away. The clatter of it hitting the concrete makes him jump and snap his head around, scenting the air for danger, but all he smells is rotten garbage, old urine and the meaty-metallic tang of a feral cat’s afterbirth. He can make out the faint mewling of the cat’s newly born kittens coming from beneath another dumpster. Testing the air again, he can smell the cat’s fear of him because she knows he’s there, but Danny has no interest in the cat or her babies; he’s got other things to worry about.

He quivers with anticipation and true _joy_ for the first time in years at the prospect of seeing Steve again. He remembers this feeling and the wolf does, too, it’s silently urging Danny on and telling him, _Let’s go, we need to go_. It’s right and Danny rises to his feet again and makes to start down the alleyway once more when he stops. From her hiding place under the dumpster, the feral cat’s fear gets to her and she growls a low cat growl of warning at Danny. He turns his head and looks over at her hiding spot and growls back.

The feral cat falls silent.

Satisfied, Danny looks down at himself, his tangled, matted coat full of burrs and leaves. There are small twigs twisted into his fur and he pulls one away to drop it on the ground. He can’t go to Steve looking like this; all he’s going to do is frighten him if he shows up there wolf-shaped with forest matter and dried blood clumped in his fur. He needs to make himself man-shaped and that sends another shiver of anxiety through Danny. He hasn’t been man-shaped since the night he tore the Boss’s shirt and before then it had been an even longer time. Wearing his human skin doesn’t feel right to Danny these days and he hates seeing himself that way, small and so very skinny with all of his scars and marks glaring back at him without his heavy coat to hide them.

The wolf doesn’t like the idea either and tries to urge Danny on, but about this he balks and disagrees. _Not safe_ , the wolf seems to be saying and Danny agrees, but scaring Steve is a big, big _no_ , too and that outweighs his fear of being small and human-vulnerable.

 _Yes_ , Danny says back and the wolf snorts it’s discomfiture at the idea. Danny snorts, too and then sneezes when the wind picks up a little and wallops him with a rush of strange and overwhelming odors.

Then he bows his back and starts to push the wolf back under his skin. The sound of his bones snapping and reshaping themselves, the elastic snap of sinew shrinking back into place has the cat curling around her small litter of newborns and shaking with fear and nervous energy as the Big Thing in the alley becomes a Small Man-Thing laying on the dirty ground, shaking and moaning softly with pain.

Danny hurts all over in his new-old body, he’s been out of this skin for so long that it took him a while to get it all back and it’s unfamiliar. When he finally pushes himself to his feet, naked and wobbling, he staggers to the side on his stick-thin legs and feels a little dizzy. He’s shorter now, his perspective has changed drastically and the world looks skewed from this new angle while he tries to readjust. The wolf paces circles in his mind, unhappy with the situation and Danny agrees with that, too, but they _must_. The wolf knows that, but it doesn’t like it. Danny feels out of place in his body—and in this once familiar, but now alien, world he’s run back into.

But they’re still free and they can both rejoice in that fact.

He moves back down the alley again, feeling the greasy-rough concrete under his feet and it’s only then that Danny realizes he’s naked. Naked and filthy and stinking and he’s going back to Steve like this. He’s ashamed, but still, he smiles as well and that expression pulls at his face in funny ways. He understands in a vague way with a sharp twist of surprise that he’d almost forgotten _how_ to do that.

He whines nervously when he’s at the mouth of the alley then he braces himself and slips from the safe darkness to the brightly lit sidewalk that’s empty this time of night. Danny moves through the light-heat-stink of the city, trotting along and sticking to darkness when he can, head tilted up a little to scent the air, hoping to catch a whiff of that familiar smell he’s never forgotten about.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Danny makes it to Steve’s after what feels like eons and does so mostly without incident. He startled a late night jogger when he burst out of an alleyway a few blocks back, but that’s the only person he’s seen. Danny thinks the jogger may’ve startled him more than he startled her anyway. He’d smelled her, but it’s been so long since he’s seen anyone but the Boss or his men that the new person was a scary thing to him, so he’d growled at her and then run away even faster.

He’d just heard her softly gasped, “What the hell?” as he fled down the street.

Now he’s standing in the backyard of a house near Steve’s. There are clothes flapping on a line in the light breeze and Danny shifts from foot to foot, wondering if he should _go_ or if he should try to hide his nakedness some. 

With a chuff of breath, he snatches a pair of bright purple shorts off the line, listening to the clothespins pop off and go flying every which way. He clutches them in his hand and listens to the roar of the surf coming from behind Steve’s house. He can’t see the house, but he knows it’s just there beyond the long driveway, sitting on a thick green lawn and inside is Steve who is probably sleeping.

Once again, Danny and the wolf know they need to go now and be with Steve. He can maybe make it better and he will hide Danny from the Boss possibly. Most of all, Danny wants to see his face, touch his skin and breathe in his scent that says, _home_ to him.

He slips out of the neighbors’ yard and across the street, loping down the dirt drive towards the house with the shorts still clenched in his fist. The sight of it sitting there makes Danny shiver again, hips swaying as he wags the tail he doesn’t have right now and he licks his lips as another smile stretches across his face; hurting in a good way.

Instead of going up the steps and through the door like he really wants to, Danny thinks about how dirty and smelly he is. He doesn’t want to be, so he moves around the house to the back and down to the beach and the ocean.

Tossing the shorts on the sand, Danny dives into the surging water with none of his old misgivings. He splashes around, letting the warm Pacific wash over him and cut through some of the dirt and filth that’s caked on his skin. He uses sand to scrub at himself and when he climbs out of the water, he shakes off until he nearly falls to the side. There’s no hope for his hair, it’s gotten really long and hasn’t seen a brush or shampoo in years. It’s a tangled, snarled mess of sopping wetness that falls into his eyes and leaves water streaming down his scarred back in tickling rivulets. 

Danny thinks he did what he meant to do, the ocean can’t wash it all away, but it’s good enough. He can’t smell his own stink anymore, so there’s that and the wolf doesn’t see the point in any of it. Danny taps his temple to try and make his point, but the wolf is still confused and impatient, so he drops the issue and snatches up the shorts to tug them on.

He moves back up the beach and across the lawn to the backdoor and when he tries the knob, he finds it locked. Danny snorts at that, irritation slipping under his skin. All he’s known are locked doors and iron bars to keep him shut in and now this one is shutting him _out_. He doesn’t like that at all and so he takes the knob in his hand again, grips it hard and _twists_. The flimsy lock snaps under his strength and Danny shoves the door open, anticipation and eagerness overriding everything else as the chain lock breaks free as well.

Then the alarm goes off and Danny slaps his hands over his ears with a scream as the piercing noise rips into his head. The wolf is startled by the sound and it panics right along with Danny, shouldering its way to the fore of Danny’s mind. Danny lets it, he’s too freaked out to even really notice. Besides, the wolf protects the man and Danny is always grateful for that as their panic sends them barreling _into_ the house at a dead run, the din of noise coming at them from all sides and Danny’s still screaming at it even as he slides into the kitchen and clambers under the table. It is shelter, he may not be able to make the noise stop, but he can hide from it here and that’s something at least.


	5. Four

Steve comes to from a dead, half-drunk sleep the moment the alarm goes off. It’s bleating out its shrill warning and under it all he thinks he hears someone screaming. Or maybe it’s an injured dog, he can’t tell and he isn’t concerned with it too much at the moment as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and snatches up his gun from the nightstand as he does.

He moves down the stairs quickly and quietly and uses the keypad by the front door to kill the alarm. The moment he does, the screaming stops as well and he moves away, looking at his living room in the semi-dark and seeing how things have been knocked askew in a clear path to the kitchen. The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks that screaming sounded like an animal and he wonders if an injured animal burst into his house because it was in pain.

Steve knows a wounded and frightened animal can be just as dangerous as a man with a gun, so he moves with caution into his kitchen and flips on the overhead light. A glance at the table shows him a chair lying on its side and he catches a glimpse of movement from beneath the table itself. The one look shows him bare, pale skin, so it is a person that’s in his house after all and Steve rests a finger lightly on the trigger of his weapon.

“Hello?” he says. “Are you hurt? Come out from under the table, now; slowly with your hands where I can see them.”

There’s no more movement from under the table though he does hear whoever it is breathing roughly, heavily. Steve is well aware that he’s being watched intently; he can feel the intruder’s eyes on him like a touch. He moves slowly towards the table and crouches down in front of it, weapon still at the ready as he looks beneath and sees the man staring back at him properly.

Steve’s heart flips in his chest as he stumbles back, startled because this can’t be. “Danny?” he asks, the name coming out like a strangled whisper. “Danny?” he says again, voice stronger as he moves back to the table again.

It _is_ Danny, an emaciated wreck of the man he last saw, but it’s _him_ and he’s _alive_. Steve laughs and actually feels a lump in his throat as he looks at Danny’s too-thin, bearded face. He can’t see him all that well because of the shadowy darkness beneath the table, but he can see enough to know he’s a mess; all scarred up and painfully skinny as he looks back at Steve. Steve knows that face though even if the tangled mess of hair and beard is something new.

“My God, _Danny_ ,” Steve says and he’s still smiling as he reaches for Danny who cocks his head and makes a strange sound in the back of his throat.

Then he launches himself at Steve, uncoiling from his crouched position lightning fast and he knocks into him, bowling him over while still making those weird noises. Steve drops his gun, thinking briefly about how the safety is off and hoping like hell it doesn’t accidentally discharge. Then he stops thinking about that and brings his arms up to wrap them around Danny and hold onto him.

He’s got his face buried in the side of Steve’s neck and he’s shaking like he’s coming apart as he presses against him. Danny smells like ocean water and beneath that, he absolutely reeks. Steve can feel his bones stabbing into him as he holds on and he doesn’t care about any of that. Three years, _three fucking years_ , he’s spent missing Danny and he wants to know what happened to him; wants to know who did all of this to him, but for the moment it can wait. Steve can’t recall ever being so overwhelmed with happiness as he is right this second, sprawled out on his kitchen floor with Danny _right there_ with him.

“I missed you,” Steve says into the soaking wet, stinking mess of Danny’s hair and he kisses that stinking mess, too.

He can’t stop saying his name and he needs to let go and get them up so he can check Danny out, he needs medical treatment, Steve’s sure of that. He knows all of that and still, he just keeps holding onto Danny, listening to those odd sounds he’s making and only then realizing he hasn’t said a single word since Steve found him.

“Hey,” Steve says and then he does pull back. “Danny, talk to me.”

Danny pulls his face away from the side of Steve’s neck and looks down at him. In the better light of the kitchen without the table’s shadow in the way, Steve truly sees his eyes and the bolt of shock that hits him has his own eyes widening. Danny’s eyes are… _wrong_. All of that clear blue has been mixed with a strange gold-orange color to the point Steve can only see a wedge of blue in one of his eyes and the other is being swallowed by it as well, amber radiating out from the pupil to eclipse the blue in that eye as well.

“What—?” Steve starts to ask, _wants_ to ask because this is fucked up and there is definitely something not right about this. He knows eye injuries can sometimes cause discoloration of the iris. He can’t remember what the disorder is called, but it only convinces him more that in the three years since he’s been missing _horrible_ things have happened to Danny.

Then Danny smiles at him and Steve forgets his questions and Danny’s bizarrely messed up eyes for a second. Danny leans down and presses his forehead to Steve’s and speaks for the first time. He says, “Hap… Hap-py… _Happy_. Yes.”

Danny settles against him and moves to press their cheeks together, letting out a soft huff of breath that ends on a shiver. Steve holds him even tighter then and swallows. Danny can barely even _talk_ , his voice is a rasp and it’s almost like he can’t remember words or how they sound or _anything_.

“Danny, what happened to you?” he asks and he can’t help it—he whispers his question because if he’s being honest, Steve is half afraid to know. Now that he’s really paying attention, he can feel the raised lines of scar tissue under his palms as he strokes Danny’s back. Some of the scars are deep, dent-like in his flesh and others are ridged, thick lines that he traces his fingers over with deepening horror.

Danny stiffens on top of him and shakes his head, eyes far away and slowly, so slowly, he gets out, “No more, Steve. No more.”

Steve wants to ask, _No more_ what _?_ , but he bites his tongue and nods. He’s going to need to know, but right now he can give Danny this and let him rest. He’s got the feeling Danny hasn’t had much—if any—peace over the past few years. No, not much at all.

“Okay, no more,” Steve says and Danny nods once before turning his head to bury his face in the side of Steve’s neck again.

“Happy,” he repeats and pats Steve.

“Me, too,” Steve says and it’s true, he’s so happy to have Danny back he really thinks he could dance a little jig. After all of this, seeing and feeling just how damaged Danny really is now, he also feels like his heart is breaking.

Against him, Danny has fallen asleep, Steve realizes and that makes him laugh as he tightens his arms around the ruined skin of his back and shoulders.

“Welcome home,” Steve says softly against the side of Danny’s head and then he lays back right there on the floor and looks up at the ceiling.

He frowns up at the ceiling and watches a little moth circling stupidly near the light fixture as he holds Danny. He’s like a sack of bones laying against him, skeletal in his emaciation and Steve cannot fathom what’s been done to him. His imagination simply will not stretch far enough for him to fully envision the kind of pain and torture Danny has been subjected too, much less is he able to fathom the _why_ of it.

Steve knows well enough about the torments endured by POWs, but Danny isn’t one of those and there have been no _wars_ being fought unless he factors in Wo Fat. Of course, why would Wo Fat have had Danny _taken_ without a word to anyone about it; a ransom, or at the least, a gloating smile? Steve’s thought along this line before and it got him exactly nowhere. After Wo Fat’s capture, he’d personally grilled him about all possibilities he could think of, coming at it from every angle, but on that front, Wo Fat had confessed ignorance. Like most everyone else that lived on Oahu, all Wo Fat knew was that Detective Daniel Williams of 5-0 had disappeared. Much as he hated to, Steve had believed him on that front.

Now he’s got Danny back and he still has no answers and in fact, has more questions. He wants to know who did this and he wants to know why. After he finds out all of that then Steve fully intends to dismember their bodies and leave the pieces for the sharks to fight over. He runs his fingers lightly over Danny’s back and imagines the wounds still fresh and bleeding; he can do that much—in this regard, his imagination will have it no other way. He imagines the _pain_ and _fear_ Danny must have felt as he was so savagely mutilated.

With both arms wrapped around Danny, Steve trembles with the fury that washes through him. He weighs next to nothing and the sight of his gaunt face peering at Steve from beneath his table is a recollection he knows will haunt him until the day he dies. No matter how much weight Danny gains now that he’s free and able to get to food, Steve will always remember that.

He only allows himself so much time to think of the future and plan his vengeance before the present comes knocking back into his mind and Steve blinks again. He can worry about all of that stuff later, but right now he needs to get Danny bathed, he needs to be fed and he really, really needs to see a doctor. Steve hates the idea of waking him up from what he can only decide is an exhausted, adrenaline crash induced sleep, but he needs to.

“Hey,” Steve says. “You need to wake up, Danno. Okay?” Steve lightly shakes him and that’s all it takes. Danny’s head snaps up with a startled sound and he’s off of Steve faster than he can grab him.

Danny scoots backwards until his shoulders hit the cabinet doors beneath the sink and then he hunches his shoulders and presses his palms flat to the floor, staring at Steve with such wild-eyed ferocity for a moment that Steve freezes. Then Danny blinks and it’s gone, he looks embarrassed and then moves back across the floor to Steve and touches his arm lightly.

“Sorry,” he says after swallowing and working his throat for a second. “Sorry,” Danny repeats and dips his head to rest it against Steve’s sternum—an act of contrition if Steve’s ever seen one.

“It’s okay,” Steve says because he doesn’t know what else to say. He rests his hand on the jutting peak of Danny’s shoulder blade and smoothes his hand over the sharply defined ridge.

“Okay,” Danny parrots and sits back, crouched on his haunches and using the tips of his fingers to help balance himself. He looks like a scrawny gargoyle sitting there like that, watching Steve with his eerie eyes, but Steve pushes the thought away.

Steve realizes then that he’s still laid out on the floor and remembering how badly Danny startled when he woke him, he slowly pushes himself into a sitting position then turns so that they’re sitting face to face. Danny cocks his head and studies him, licking his lips and shifting his weight on his hips as he does so. There is something _strange_ about the whole thing—the way Danny’s looking at him, the way he’s sitting, the way he _moves_ —but Steve can’t quite put his finger on it. It’s almost like… like… He almost gets a grasp on it, but then it escapes him again, slippery as an eel and Steve lets it go that time. He can think about all of this stuff later, he reminds himself, because right now there are more immediate things to be dealt with.

He’s a little shocked to realize that he’s not all too sure about how to even _talk_ to Danny the way he is now. He’s obviously not right in the head, to put it mildly; Steve’s only really been with him for about an hour now and he can tell that much, but it makes sense. No one could live through what Danny’s body says he’s endured and come out of it completely unscathed. A lesser man would’ve died well before three years and Steve is also aware of that—and grateful that Danny is not a lesser man.

“I’m going to stand up now,” Steve says and watches as Danny slowly tips his head the other direction at the sound of his voice. His gaze is unwavering, eerie in the intensity of it alone even without his cracked eyes to add to it.

As he pushes slowly to his feet, he watches the muscles along Danny’s back and shoulders tense as he tracks Steve’s movements. He makes a little sound in the back of his throat that Steve thinks sounds anxious, maybe a little worried and Steve shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says because that seems like the _right_ thing to say. “I just needed to stand up.”

He stretches to unknot the way his muscles have bunched up from laying on the linoleum so long and then he leans back against the wall across from Danny so that they can still look at each other. Danny hasn’t moved from his crouched position on the floor, in fact, he seems comfortable like that even with his bad knee, but he’s tilted his head back some to look at Steve better; to _watch_ him better.

“You need to see a doctor,” Steve begins, telling him as gently as he possibly can.

At his words though, Danny is on his feet like a flash and Steve actually starts at the suddenness of the movement. He’s tense all over; the wiry muscles lying over his bones are bunched and trembling with that tension as he looks at Steve almost accusingly. He doesn’t understand what he’s done or what he’s said to cause Danny to look at him that way.

“No,” Danny says, spitting it out like something nasty in his mouth.

The word is so harsh and vehement that again, Steve is somewhat taken aback. Last time he checked, Danny wasn’t afraid of doctors and he has no reason to be so now. He should _want_ to go see a physician and have himself taken care of. Hell, he kind of _deserves_ it and he is in desperate need, all one needs to do is take a look at Danny to know that much.

“Danny, look, you’ve been through God knows what, you’re half starved and you _need_ —” Steve tries again and Danny moves to the side and farther away from Steve as he shakes his head.

“No!” he says again with more force. His voice cracks like a whip in the room, its torn and tattered rawness made even more evident by the loudness of his refusal.

Steve scrubs a hand over his face and goes to Danny, hands held out and trying to reason with him. Danny holds still and lets Steve come to him and place his hands on his shoulders. Steve notices the way he shivers at the touch and he strokes him, trying to calm him down.

“Why?” Steve asks him and then it occurs to him why Danny is afraid. Whoever has held him like this didn’t just let him go, Steve has no doubts about that and that means that Danny must’ve escaped from wherever he was being held prisoner. It all clicks into place and makes perfect sense then and Steve feels like a fucking idiot for not thinking of that sooner.

“Shit,” he says under his breath and moves his hands up to cup Danny’s bearded cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Danny tilts his head into Steve’s left palm, pressing his cheek into it and closes his eyes with a soft huff of breath. “We can protect you though, Danny, you don’t have to be afraid,” Steve tries once more, coming at it from another angle and Danny’s eyes open a little. For a moment, Steve swears they glimmer and glitter in the light, but then Danny closes his eyes again and the illusion is broken.

“No,” Danny says again and that time he sounds so _tired_ that Steve feels like a prick for upsetting him so much.

The people—organization—crime ring—whatever motherfuckers it was that took Danny has to be a powerful operation indeed and the more he thinks about it, the more his old friend Paranoia agrees with him: Maybe it’s best to keep Danny out of a hospital and away from general medical staff/personnel for now. He’s already decided that Danny’s sudden reappearance shouldn’t be made public, not until Danny is more physically (and mentally, a little voice suggests to Steve) sound. Maybe not even then.

As he thinks, he comes to realize that whoever was holding Danny—and who knows how many other poor souls, perhaps—will possibly be looking for him, if for no other reason than to put a bullet in his head to stop him from spilling their secrets. Right now, Steve does need to protect Danny, but he’s not going to do that by dragging him to a brightly lit, public hospital. No, this needs to be kept far quieter than that until they can get through to Danny and find out what they need to know to bust the bastards responsible for the atrocities etched into Danny’s flesh.

Steve racks his brain trying to think of _who_ he can call to come check Danny out this time of night and on short notice; someone he trusts to keep their mouth shut no less. At last a name occurs to him and it makes him huff out a soft laugh.

“I’m going to call Max to come over and look at you,” Steve tells Danny whose eyes pop open completely at the sound of his voice.

His eyes narrow and he moves back from Steve again, fingers going to his ear and tugging at it lightly. He looks at Steve again and he sees the confusion there and is at once surprised and not that Danny’s isn’t sure who he’s talking about.

“You know, _Max_ , short little Asian guy?” Steve says, trying to jog Danny’s memory. “He plays the piano and works at the ME’s office? That guy?”

Danny blinks rapidly and shakes his head a little as he starts to pace, tugging at his earlobe the whole while. After a moment, he stops and looks back at Steve. “Max,” Danny says and Steve nods. “Weirdo.”

“Yeah, that’s the guy,” Steve says with a smile and he remembers Danny’s lengthy diatribes about how Max should be in an institution and not be trusted anywhere near sharp instruments.

 _Mark my words, Steven, that guy is a bomb waiting to go off_ , Danny had proclaimed more than once; in fact, it had been one of his stock remarks about Max. Fact is, he had never actually disliked Max and Steve knows it. However, Max’s more than obvious eccentricities were capable of putting off the most laid back person and “laid back person” weren’t words that in any way, shape or form were applicable to Danny unless “he’s not a” were added in front of them.

“Okay,” Danny says and Steve lets out a relieved breath to hear him say that. He would’ve called Max anyway, but to have Danny’s acquiescence on the matter will make things much easier in the long run.

“Good,” Steve says and takes a moment to decide what else to do.

Danny also needs a bath—and a haircut, he decides because there’s nothing else to be done for that snarled mop on his head—and he needs food. Steve comes up with a plan that sounds workable in his head and nods to himself again. The plan is to call Max and fill him in the best he can while Danny eats and give Max some time to get together whatever he may possibly need—being an ME, he’s not exactly overburdened with medical supplies beneficial to the living. While they wait on him to arrive, Steve figures he can get Danny’s hair cut then get him in the shower. It’s a good plan, organized and it makes efficient use of time; Steve likes it.

“I’m going to find you something to eat and—” Steve starts and Danny’s eyes light up at that, but still, his forehead creases a little as well and he moves back half a step, too. He looks hopeful _and_ worried at the same time.

“Food?” he asks and licks his lips.

“Yeah, food,” Steve says. “I’ve got some chicken I grilled the other night that I thought would be pretty good for now until we can get you something better.”

“Chicken,” Danny whispers to himself, tapping his temple lightly as he visibly relaxes at that. Steve can’t wrap his head around Danny seeming to be worried at the prospect of eating, he should be ecstatic about the idea, not half anxious.

“Chicken,” Steve assures him anyway as he goes to the fridge to get the plate out of it.

He’s barely got the chicken out of the refrigerator when Danny snatches a thigh off the plate before Steve has even turned back around. And when the hell did he move across the kitchen anyway?

Steve does turn around then and watches as Danny moves back again, already devouring the piece of chicken with chokingly huge bites that he hardly seems to be chewing before swallowing. “Hey, slow down,” Steve says as he moves closer, but Danny doesn’t seem to hear him. He only tears off another mouthful of meat, chews it slightly and then tilts his head back to swallow that down as well.

Steve watches him with something like amazement to see the way he’s eating. He’s plowed through plates of food before, but never quite like this, never quite so savagely or with such abandon. The crunch of Danny biting into the bone pulls Steve’s full attention back to him though and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Whoa, Danny, don’t do that,” Steve says and reaches for the piece of thigh bone hanging out of Danny’s mouth.

Danny turns on him so fast that Steve steps back almost as quickly. It’s not the movement so much as it is the look on Danny’s face; eyes narrowed and lips pulled back from his teeth, baring them at Steve. Even more than that is the _sound_ he makes. It comes up deep from Danny’s chest and out of his mouth and there is no other way to describe it except as a snarl.

“Danny?” Steve asks because _fuck_.

He hates to admit it, but Danny just scared the hell out of him because for half a second, he would’ve sworn on a stack of Bibles that it hadn’t been _Danny_ that was looking at him at all. That thought makes Steve wonder if Danny’s the only one here with mental problems. Steve is pretty sure he’s not, but he’s also equally sure that what just happened isn’t part of his own issues.

Danny sniffs the air once and eyes Steve warily as he bites the rest of the way through the bone. Then his whole expression changes and his eyes soften, take on an apologetic look and he spits the bone onto the floor. Normally Steve would be annoyed about the greasy mark that’s going to leave, but at the moment that is the farthest thing from his mind.

Danny opens and closes his mouth a couple of times and moves back from Steve even more, almost edging across the threshold into the living room. He’s the one that looks afraid and he’s shaking his head, looking at Steve with pleading eyes as he stands there, hands behind his back like a little boy who’s just done something naughty and knows it.

“Sorry,” he says softly. “Shouldn’t have… Should _never_ … not with…”

Steve doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, but he thinks he gets the gist of it—Danny’s sorry for reacting the way he did and while it was definitely weird ( _crazy_ , he thinks with a touch of shame) it’s really _not_ Danny’s fault that he’s like this now.

“Come sit at the table and finish eating,” Steve says. “You’re hungry, that’s all and that’s okay. Come eat.”

He goes to the table first and sets the plate of chicken down where Danny used to always sit and then takes his own usual seat. It takes a minute, but soon Danny comes to the table and looks at the chair for a minute, like he’s trying to decide what to do with it. Then something seems to click and he pulls it back from the table and sits almost gingerly, like he’s afraid it won’t hold his weight—which would be funny if it wasn’t so fucking sad.

He eyes Steve ashamedly for another second and then he snatches up another piece of chicken and tears into it with the same abandon as before, all the while keeping an eye on Steve. Steve looks away and listens to the sounds of Danny’s ravenous feasting, waiting for him to finish at least another piece—and hopefully not choke to death on a bone in the process—before he gets up to go call Max. He almost flinches when he hears Danny biting into that bone as well and the crunch of him _eating_ it that follows, but he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t try and stop him this time.

When the last crunch of bone is over, Steve starts to rise then catches movement from the corner of his eye. He looks fully at Danny and sees that he’s gently pushing one of the larger pieces of chicken across the table to Steve with that same apologetic look on his face.

“Share,” Danny says, the word as broken as all his others have been. “With you. Share.”

He glances up at Steve and then down at the chicken he’s offering, shifting in his seat a bit. He’s waiting to see if Steve takes the chicken—the apology—or not. With a sad, sad sigh, Steve picks up the plump breast and tears a piece off with his fingers. Then he smiles at Danny and pops it in his mouth, his sadness washing away when Danny smiles back at him.

“It’s good, huh?” Steve says around his mouthful of chicken—he’d be a liar if he ever professed to having great table manners when in the privacy of his own home. Between mess halls during basic and only having X amount of time for chow when he was on assignment, Steve himself has had to relearn some of the more basic essentials of dining etiquette. When he’s at home, most of those essentials fly right out the window, right down to him sometimes wiping his hands on his pants—something that would shock the shit out of anyone that knows what a neat freak he otherwise is.

It’s with that in mind he raises his piece of chicken to Danny as though toasting him with it and just bites into the thing. Even still, by the time he’s finished with the breast, Danny is already gnawing away at his fourth piece of chicken, the very end of the wing tip poking out of his mouth.

Steve lays his own bone aside and isn’t all that surprised when Danny snatches it away and bites into it before he even picks up another whole piece. He gets up to go call Max then and Danny freezes, looking up at him with wide eyes, bone hanging out of his mouth.

“I have to go get my phone so I can call Max-the-weirdo to come look at you,” Steve tells him. “That’s all, I’ll be right back.”

Danny looks doubtful, head tilted to one side again, but he doesn’t say anything either—which may have something to do with the chicken bone in his mouth, but Steve figures he’d spit it out for something important. He almost laughs, but again, there’s nothing all that funny about it, not really.

He turns and walks out of the kitchen, leaving Danny to his chicken for the time it takes him to go upstairs and get his cell phone since he doesn’t have Max’s number memorized. He also makes a mental note to call the alarm company and ream them out for not calling him about the alarm going off. He’s actually glad they didn’t _this_ time, but any other time; any other instance and it could’ve been something bad and they’re obviously not doing their damned jobs. He’s not pay for this stuff if it’s not even useful. He takes the stairs two at a time as he thinks that, also half thinking that if he doesn’t hurry then Danny will be gone when he comes back; nothing more than a figment of his imagination or some really vivid liquor soaked dream.

Steve snatches his phone up off the nightstand and then turns to leave the room, only to jump when he comes face-to-face with Danny. When the hell did he get so _quiet_ , Steve wonders even as he drops his phone and yells, “Jesus-fuck, man!”

Danny looks at him for a moment, head tilted down between his shoulders, making them hunch up a little and then he stretches his neck out, moving it from side to side a bit and that, too, tickles something in the back of Steve’s mind. There’s something so familiar and yet so alien about some of Danny’s movements that it’s driving him up a wall trying to figure out where he’s seen that stuff before.

Then Danny does something really strange: He laughs. The sound seems to startle him; he actually jerks when it comes out of his mouth and shuffles back a step, scratching nervously at his side.

“It’s okay,” Steve says. He sounds like a broken record, continually telling Danny it’s okay when he’s got the sinking feeling that it’s anything _but_ because no one should ever be afraid to laugh. No one should ever be _surprised_ by the sound of their own laughter.

He picks his phone up and then goes to Danny, reaching out and taking one of his chicken-greasy hands in his to tug gently. “Let’s go back downstairs so I can call Max and you can finish eating, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Danny agrees and allows Steve to lead him out of the room, fingers tight around Steve’s hand like he’s afraid to let go—or is afraid of being let go of.

Steve scrolls through his contact list as they go down the stairs and when he finds Max’s number, he hits send and waits for him to pick up. He’s starting to think that maybe what Danny needs more than a doctor is a psychiatrist, but for now that will have to wait. Not for too long though, he’s afraid.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Once Steve gets off the phone with Max, carefully sidestepping the bulk of his confused, rapid-fire questions in the process, he’s gotten his promise to be there as soon as he can, maybe two or two and half hours, he told Steve. It’s plenty of time to get Danny sorted the best he can in the meantime, he thinks and watches as Danny sniffs the now empty plate that once held the chicken.

He lets out a heavy breath and clears his throat to get Danny’s attention. He looks up at him, eyes cutting back down to look at the plate again and Steve determines that he’s going to need more to eat than the little bit of chicken. For a well-fed person, six pieces of chicken would’ve been more than enough to leave them utterly stuffed, but for a half-starved person like Danny it was probably more like an appetizer. Steve’s heard that people suffering from prolonged food deprivation usually get sick if they eat too much, too fast, but Danny seems far from puking as he sits there, perched on the very edge of his seat.

He’s obviously been fed enough to keep him going for the past three years—he’s mobile, energetic even, but still underfed by far. It’s like they gave him _just enough_ to keep him from physically degenerating completely. At least that’s how it’s starting to look the more he thinks about it, but Steve can’t say for sure and that’s becoming a running theme with the whole situation.

“How about a shower?” he asks Danny who tilts his head and studies him curiously. “You can get washed up and get the funk off. And um… maybe let me cut your hair, too.”

Steve tacks on that last, remembering how particular Danny always was about his hair and he’s not sure how he’s going to take that suggestion. He looks on as Danny slowly lifts a hand to pat at the top of his head and grasp a snarled lock of hair between his thumb and forefinger to tug at it lightly. There’s really nothing for it, Steve thinks as he looks at him, his hair is unkempt and matted to the point of being in rather unstylish dreadlocks, minus the twisting. It’s more like knots on top of more knots. He’s going to have to shave Danny’s head and he really doesn’t want to do that, especially given how thin he is—Danny’s going to end up looking like a concentration camp survivor if he has to buzz off all his hair. Maybe he can salvage some of it if he’s careful.

Danny tugs at his hair again and sighs. “Cut?” he asks and makes a snip-snip motion with his fingers.

“Yeah, I’m afraid so,” Steve says and eyeballs the rat’s nest of blonde hair that’s so dirty it’s more of a medium greyish brown. “There’s no saving it.”

What’s surprising is that Danny doesn’t seem to have lice or anything given the state of his hair and how dirty he is. He hasn’t seen him scratch at his head once and by this point, he wouldn’t just have a case of head lice, he’d have an _infestation_. Not to mention there very well may be other things living in his hair, like cockroaches or spiders because such a mess makes a perfect nesting spot for them. Now that he’s thought of that, it’s actually really strange that Danny doesn’t seem to have any of those problems and the realization adds more questions to the list Steve’s dying to ask Danny.

Danny frowns and fidgets in his seat a little bit and then looks at Steve from underneath his nappy bangs. “Okay,” he says at last and looks at his hand as he makes the snip-snip motion again like the movement _fascinates_ him.

“Come on then,” Steve says with his best encouraging smile.

He gets up and Danny gets up with him, following along docilely enough as he keeps making that snip-snip motion like he’s never seen his fingers before.

Getting Danny to agree to let Steve cut his hair was the easy part. He sits on the closed lid of the toilet where Steve directs him, watches him plug up the clippers and fiddle with the controls to get the setting for Danny’s hair close enough—unfortunately they don’t actually have one for “completely overgrown wreck”.

It’s when he turns the clippers on that all hell breaks loose. Danny shoots up off the toilet seat and makes a dash for the door. He hits it with his open palms, looking over his shoulder at the clippers fearfully that are making their usual low, buzzing _hum_ sound. Steve puts the clippers down in a rush, not thinking to turn them off and goes to grab Danny, who is still hitting the door. He whops it a good one and the white-painted wood cracks around the impact, which makes Steve raise an eyebrow in surprise.

“Danny, Danny _stop_ ,” Steve says and grabs his shoulders to try and pull him away from the door.

Danny turns on him and snaps at his arm in fear, but Steve doesn’t let him go, he just pulls him closer. “Bad,” Danny says. “ _Ow_.”

“No, it’s okay, it’s just the clippers,” Steve says, at a loss because he doesn’t know what it is that’s scared Danny so much. He guesses it was the sound of them coming on, but he doesn’t know why that should frighten him.

“ _Bad_ ,” Danny repeats and tries to jerk away from Steve who has to dig his fingers into his shoulders to hold onto him and still has a hard time doing so.

“No,” Steve repeats right back. “Not bad, I swear. I wouldn’t hurt you, Danny. I’m not going to do anything bad, it’s just a haircut. Please calm down. _Please_.”

Danny shakes his head with a low sound of worry and Steve wraps his arms around him even tighter. “Hush, it’s _okay_ , I promise. I’m only going to cut your hair, nothing else.”

It takes him twenty minutes to coax Danny back down onto the toilet seat so he can do that. The way he flinches and jerks, baring his teeth at the clippers when Steve approaches him with them tells Steve that Danny’s allowing it because he trusts him; not because he actually believes the clippers won’t hurt him.

They get through it though and when he’s done, Danny does still have some hair left. It is close-cropped much like Steve’s is, but he’s not completely shorn either. There are still knots even in such short hair, but that can be easily taken care of. There is a drift of dirty hair around the toilet and on Danny’s shoulders that he is now itching at as he looks around at all of the cut hair.

Steve turns the clippers off and steps back, looking at Danny with another encouraging smile. “There. See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Danny looks right at him and snorts, that one sound perfectly conveying how he feels about the ordeal. It’s actually a very _Danny_ thing to do and it makes Steve smile even bigger. He’s still in there somewhere, beneath all the psychological wreckage; he just has to find him again. Steve doesn’t lie to himself and pretend that won’t be a challenge, but he’s never shied away from those and he’s not about to start where Danny is concerned.

“Shower now,” Steve says and Danny gives him a narrow-eyed look like he’s expecting Steve to spring some other buzz-humming upset on him. “So you can wash, get the hair off and get clean. I told you that already.”

Danny picks up a wad of his hair, sniffs it and then promptly sneezes, sending hair all over the place. Steve assumes that’s as close to a, _Sure, I get it_ , from Danny as he’s going to get. It’ll have to do because Danny is obviously not big on talking these days.

He doesn’t know what to do about clothes for Danny though, his won’t fit him—they never did and now it’d be like a cruel joke to try and give Danny some of his clothes to wear. Even Danny’s old clothes wouldn’t fit him now, but he’s got some of them in a box in the garage. They’re miles better than Danny continuing to wear the bright purple shorts with JUICY on the rear end of them that he got from who-knows-where.

Steve turns on the shower and Danny jumps at the sudden noise, head whipping around to look at the spray beating down in the tub. He gets up and approaches the shower carefully and Steve moves aside to let him look. Danny rubs absently at his belly and chest with both hands, making washing motions.

He looks over at Steve and says, “Clean.”

“Yep,” Steve says and nods at the shower. “You can get clean again.”

Danny huffs out a breath and opens his mouth then closes it again as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. He makes a frustrated noise and pulls at his earlobe, frowning as he stands there. Finally, with heartbreaking slowness he says, “Long time. Since.”

“I know,” Steve says and rubs his shoulder gently. “You can now though as many times as you want as often as you want.”

Danny sighs that time, the sound softer and nods with a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “No more,” he says and he sounds so relieved that Steve can feel it.

“No, no more _ever_ again,” Steve tells him, angry all over again as he absently follows a long scar on Danny’s upper arm. He doesn’t need Max or anyone else to tell him that someone cut Danny’s arm like that and then _burned_ it by the looks of it.

“Good,” Danny says and sticks his hand under the spray, letting the water play over his fingers.

He turns back to Steve, facing him directly and very gently pushes him towards the cracked bathroom door. Steve can feel the strength in just that light touch and wonders how Danny has maintained any muscle at all given his neglected state, but underfed aside, he seems shockingly healthy overall. It’s a blessing as much as it is a mystery.

“What is it?” Steve asks him as Danny continues to gently push at him.

“You go—for now,” Danny says and looks back at the shower. “Just me with _clean_.”

“You want to shower alone?” Steve asks to make sure and at Danny’s heavy, chuffing breath, Steve almost grins again. “I get it, okay, point taken.”

“Out,” Danny says and pushes at him once more then leans in and _licks_ Steve’s collarbone once. It’s an undeniably affectionate—albeit very fucking weird—gesture.

“I’ll be just outside if you need me and I’ve got some of your old clothes, I need to get those, but then I’ll be back,” Steve says.

Danny stands back to wait for Steve to leave and says, “Okay.”

Steve nods before he opens the door, looking at the split in the wood again and thinking, _The fuck?_ before he leaves Danny to it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve gets Danny’s clothes from some of the boxes stacked on the Camaro’s roof in the garage as quickly as he can. He digs out the most basic stuff he can find—a black t-shirt, a pair of faded blue jeans, a black leather belt and a pair of socks—then heads back inside and up the stairs. He could’ve sworn he had some of Danny’s shoes here as well, but couldn’t find any and thinks that he’ll have to get him some soon. Danny’s shoes must be in Rachel’s garage instead because while Danny hadn’t owned that much, Steve still hasn’t cleaned out all of the stuff the belonged to his father and he’s rather short on storage because of it. He’s got the Camaro and _most_ of Danny’s things though, he just couldn’t fit all of it into the limited space he has, so Rachel’s got the rest of it.

Steve thinks about calling her and Chin and Kono; they’re all going to want to know and will find out eventually for sure—sooner rather than later, no doubt. They _deserve_ to know, but Steve isn’t sure Rachel or Grace _need_ to know about Danny coming back yet and that’s the hard part. Danny really isn’t in any kind of condition to see his daughter, he’s not who Grace remembers and he’s obviously mentally unstable. It’s a hard decision and neither side of that coin seems right—not telling or telling and letting them see what’s happened to Danny; that he can barely speak now, his wasted frame and those eyes of his. He can’t help but wonder what it would do to Grace to see her father like this, her Danno, who she’s been waiting on for three years now. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but it’s not exactly his call to make either. Except maybe it is.

He taps on the bathroom door lightly and says, “I’ve got your clothes, I’m going to leave them right outside the door for you.”

There’s no reply from Danny, but the movement in the shower stopped when he spoke and he knows he heard him, hell, he can almost _feel_ Danny listening. It’s a strange sensation and Steve shakes it off and blames the lingering effects of the booze he consumed before bedtime for the thought. Steve moves away from the door and sits down at the top of the stairs to wait on Danny while he thinks on what to do about Grace, Rachel and everyone else in between. He _definitely_ has to tell Chin and Kono about this ASAP, even before he tells Rachel and Grace so they can help him out and they can start trying to coax Danny into talking about what’s happened to him.

Steve trusts them not to tell anyone else until Danny is ready for visitors. God, he can’t even believe he’s thinking this way; maybe Danny’s just in shock and tired, maybe he’ll be fine by tomorrow. Steve doesn’t think so though and he’s trying to be practical and keep everyone’s best interests in mind right now and he’s not doing a very bang up job of it. Danny is probably going to want to see Grace once he calms down a little anyway and then Steve has no idea what to do because for Grace, Danny would go through a wall to get to her if that was what he wanted. The thing is; Steve is worried that Danny will _scare_ her if she sees him right now.

Steve rubs his hands along the sides of his bowed head as he thinks and thinks and comes up with pretty much nothing where the outcome is good. It was his job to run scenarios and settings in his mind; he’s trained to do this and every outcome he visualizes ends badly at this juncture. With time, sure, it’ll be fine for Danny to see her, but not now he doesn’t think and he comes right back to his original thought: It’s not really his right to decide this, but _damnit_.

Steve wants a beer. He wants a beer very badly and that’s part of the problem, too, he’s got Danny back and he still wants to drink. That is just fucking great, he thinks a little bitterly because he’s all too aware of what he’s turned into over the years: a functional alcoholic and if not that then he’s damned close to it. The little itch that lives in the back of his mind almost constantly now crept up on him and was there before he ever even realized it. He would swear that one day it hadn’t existed and the next day he’d woken up with it nesting in his head, crawling around and _demanding_ more alcohol. He’d tried to ignore it, tamp it down and drown it out even after the shaking in his hands set in and his heart started to beat a bit too fast, but by the time he’d started sweating, Steve had thrown in the towel because never in his life could he remember feeling so _sick_.

It shames him to admit it, but it’s something that he knows and has for a good while—nearly two of these past three years—and Steve hasn’t even tried to ignore it. He doesn’t even try now, the itch needs scratching and he’s actually relieved to do its bidding. Steve rubs at his face and stands up to go downstairs and grab a beer to drink while he continues thinking. There’s a crash from the bathroom and a startled sound from Danny that makes Steve freeze and turn back to go tap at the bathroom door.

“Everything alright in there?” he asks and can just hear Danny moving around in the shower by the way the pattern of the water breaks. “Danny?”

“Fine,” Danny finally says. “Dropped.”

“Ah, okay,” Steve says and moves away from the door then.

There’s another clatter and a thump when he’s halfway down the stairs and he wonders what the hell Danny’s doing in there because it sounds like he’s tearing the room apart now; very bull meets China shop. He listens for the spraying of water to indicate a busted pipe or a cry of pain and when none of that is forthcoming, he goes the rest of the way down the stairs to get his beer.

He get his beer then nips out of the bottle of vodka he keeps in the freezer before he heads up again, beer in hand, to resume his position at the head of the stairs. Steve sits there for so long, listening to the thumps, bumps, clatters and mini crashes coming from the bathroom that he makes more trips back down the stairs and through three beers. By the last swallow of the third, he’s starting to wonder if Danny is _ever_ going to come out of the bathroom again and he knows that the hot water has to have run out awhile ago; Danny is probably standing in there freezing his ass off.

Steve waits another couple of minutes and is about to get up and go check on Danny when the bathroom door opens. The sound gets his attention and Steve turns to look down the hall. He’s just in time to see Danny’s thin hand dragging his clothes the rest of the way into the bathroom before the door closes again. The shower is still on and Steve thinks maybe Danny forgot to turn it off or maybe Danny doesn’t remember _how_ or even that he _should_. He rubs a hand over his mouth and waits while he strains his ears for the sounds of Danny dressing.

It’s another ten minutes before the door opens again and Danny steps out into the hallway, eyes instantly going to Steve sitting at the top of the stairs. Steve smiles when he sees him standing there backlit by the bathroom light. His clothes sag on him, he’s got the belt on too loosely, making his jeans droop dangerously low on his hips and he seems to have foregone the socks entirely, but he’s clean. Steve can smell the soapy scent of him from where he’s sitting and as he rises, Danny finally smiles back. It’s a tentative thing, unsure and a little shy as he shuffles on his feet in that odd way he’s picked up somewhere over the years and all the damage, but he’s smiling and that’s what Steve takes into account.

“Clean,” Danny says and nods as Steve gets close enough to really get a good look at him.

“Yes, you are,” Steve says and his smile gets even bigger when he sees that Danny has shaved or tried to, more like it.

He’s got a few places he missed and nicks in other places without toilet paper to blot up the blood. His beard was so heavy that Steve knows he’s bound to have no usable razors anymore and Danny still has stubble on his face, but none of that matters at all. He can _see_ Danny so much better now and thin and gaunt or not, it’s still the face that Steve loves. As for shaving properly, they can worry about that later and now that he’s got the bulk of the face-fuzz whacked off, Steve thinks the next shave will be a clean one if they don’t let it go for too long. At least he has some idea now what took so long and what all the commotion was about in there.

It hits Steve like a kick to gut when the emotions wash over him hard and fast. He’s been happy, so fucking happy, since the second he saw Danny, but now is the first time he thinks he’s truly feeling the bulk of it. That happiness and all the years of worry and grief; remorse and regret all collapse in on him and then swell. Before he knows what he’s doing, Steve grabs Danny and pulls him close, saying his name in a low, almost shell-shocked voice. He remembers what Danny said to him, the very first thing, _Hap-py_ and yes, oh yes, Steve is.

“I missed you so fucking much,” Steve chokes out and kisses Danny once, a quick press of his lips that seems to startle Danny slightly, but he’s still smiling, so Steve knows it is okay. He notices he can smell mint on Danny’s breath and he’s brushed his teeth, which means he used Steve’s toothbrush and that is fan-fucking- _tastic_. He could almost jump up and down with the joyful relief that has swept over him.

He holds onto Danny, breathing him in; the clean smell of his hair, the soapy smell of his skin and the slightly musty odor of his clothes even though Steve’s been a bit of a psycho about them, taking them out and washing them twice a year or so. At least they haven’t dry rotted and at least he held onto his hope enough to keep them a little fresh. _Why_ he’s thinking about the state of Danny’s clothes he has no fucking clue except that it’s something to think about. It’s because Danny is standing here with him, leaning against him and hugging him back while wearing those same clothes Steve never thought he’d see him in again.

“I… came… back,” Danny says as he strokes Steve’s back like he’s the one that needs comforting. “Out and back. No more.”

It’s the most he’s said since he showed up and there’s that _no more_ again that Steve wants to know about. He wants to ask Danny question after question and keeps telling himself he can’t do that; he _shouldn’t_ do that, not yet. Anything he said right this second with so much rushing around in his mind would sound like an interrogation and he doesn’t want to do that to Danny. He tells himself he’ll give it a couple of days and sort his thoughts out and _then_ he will ask.

Against him Danny stiffens some and pulls back to tilt his head. “Car,” he says.

Steve doesn’t hear anything at first and is about to tell Danny that when he does finally hear the soft purr of an engine in the front yard. “How’d you do that?” he asks and Danny just blinks at him, looking a little confused. “It’s Max-the-weirdo come to take a look at you and make sure you’re really okay,” he adds when Danny doesn’t relax and instead tenses up more, nostrils flaring as he… _sniffs_ the air.

“Menace,” Danny says at last and nods, but he doesn’t relax much at all.

“Let’s get this over with then, huh?” Steve says right as a knock sounds at his door.

Danny jumps, fingers biting into Steve’s back where they’re still resting, but he nods. “Over,” he agrees and then lets go of Steve to step away and look at him expectantly. “Now?”

“Now,” Steve says and Danny nods, going ahead of him with light, careful steps, posture alert and tense as he walks. He moves when Steve tries to go around him.

He’s keeping himself between Steve and Max who is still downstairs and still knocking on the door, Steve realizes. He files that away as another thing about Danny that he’s seen before, but can’t place that is only serving to drive him even more up the wall.

“I’m coming, Max, stop beating on my door,” Steve calls once they get downstairs.

When Danny turns to look at him, Steve slips around him and keeps walking, putting himself between Danny and Max, just in case. Just in case _what_ , Steve isn’t sure, but he’s going with his gut instinct and feels that it may be better this way. It's another of those things that he can't quite put his finger on, but he intends to figure it out, too.


	6. Five

It’s been a week since Max-the-weirdo came by to check Danny out. He’s been with Steve a whole _week_ and that’s wonderful, it’s amazing. Danny is scared to death it’ll end real soon. Real, _real_ soon. The moon will be full in another week and The Boss is going to be looking for him, he’s waiting for the trap to spring closed around him and maybe Steve, too. He doesn’t want that, but he can’t go back to The Boss’s house and kill him because he is afraid of that as well.

Danny and the wolf don’t know what to do because thinking is hard business sometimes. It’s been a long week, but weeks are actually short, so it’s not been a long _time_. Danny whines low in the back of his throat, confusion and nervousness making him uncomfortable as he twists his fingers in the tail of the t-shirt he’s wearing. The wolf thinks they should run away and take Steve with them; if he won’t listen to them when they tell him then they’ll _make_ him come.

 _Bite_ , the wolf says. _We should bite him then he’ll know._

But Danny shakes his head then taps his temple, _Nuh-uh, can’t, not nice to bite_.

 _It is if it’s_ good _biting_ , the wolf argues, twisting in Danny’s mind and sliding under his skin in a way that makes him shiver and want the wolf to come out from under his ugly human flesh.

It’s a secret and he’s not telling ever, but sometimes when Steve leaves for work, Danny lets the wolf come and then he can really sleep. He feels _ready_ that way; like if The Boss comes then he can’t take Danny because the wolf is smart and mean; it hates with a kind of purity the man still cannot manage even after all that has been done to him. The wolf is wary though, very wary and they agree with each other about not going back to The Boss’s house to kill him. 

_Not safe_ , their voices say in unison, mingling and chiming against each other, one with words and the other with feeling. Their thoughts blend like they should instead of grinding against one another like colliding tectonic plates.

Danny and the wolf are thinking about all of that while standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, staring at the clock on the microwave. He’s still got his fingers twisted in the hem of his t-shirt, half tempted to take it off because clothes feel _weird_ to him now; right _and_ wrong. There’s a piece of raw pork chop in his other hand and he gnaws at it contentedly, sated for now, but still overwhelmed by the _food_ that he can eat anytime he wants to. It makes it hard to leave it in the sink where Steve put it to thaw, he doesn’t understand about the delicious smells that come off fresh meat, even if the meat is cold. He also doesn’t like it that Danny eats so much stuff raw, he says it’s bad for him and will make him sick, but Danny never gets sick at all. That only confuses Steve and Danny’s sorry, he is, but the pork chops were _right there_ all day and the sandwiches Steve left him in the fridge have been gone for hours. He left Steve his two pork chops though; he won’t steal Steve’s food from him, nope, never.

Another minute ticks by on the microwave clock and it is one minute closer to time for Steve to come home. Danny doesn’t like him leaving, but knows he has to because he has a job and that means he can’t be with Danny all day. That doesn’t mean he likes it, doesn’t mean he can stop himself from getting nervous and pacing the floor, whining for at least an hour after Steve leaves. Danny knows that he wasn’t always like this and the wolf wasn’t either, but now they’re broken up in pieces bad- _bad_ and because of that it comes out, all that worry and fretting. He’s already better now, he finds ways to stay busy; he naps and eats and runs on the beach. Sometimes he even runs right into the ocean so he can swim and swim and swim. He has a corner of the attic where he goes when he lets the wolf out so he can curl up to sleep that way and Steve will never know if he comes home. Danny can hear Steve (and everyone else) way before they get inside the house and the attic is cozy for Danny with its low ceiling and tight corners. There are places for him to hide even if he is big when he’s wolf-shaped.

Danny tried waiting for Steve in the living room in the evenings, watching the clock on the DVD player, but there had also been a clock on the wall. That clock had ticked. The sound had been maddening to Danny, loud to his sensitive ears and it seemed to get inside his head and tick _in his brain_ until he hadn’t been able to take it anymore. He’d started pacing; left-right-left-right and when his head had started swinging side to side, Danny had snapped. Something deep down and angry inside of him—the man and the wolf—had gotten very mad at the clock. He’d screamed at it and torn it down from the wall, had broken it to bits under his fists and feet so it would _stop_ making the bad sound that made him walk like he was being punished.

Steve had come home and found the clock and he’d been upset about that. He’d asked Danny why and all Danny had been able to say was, “Tick-tock, _loud_.”

And Steve had said, “That clock belonged to my grandfather.” His eyes had been sad-sad-sad, but kind of angry, too.

Danny had felt bad about it, said, “Sorry, Steve. _Sorry_.”

“It’s okay,” Steve had told him, but it hadn’t been and Danny had known it.

He’d went away to the attic again while Steve cleaned up and pressed himself against the wall there, hiding his face because that was what needed to be done when he was bad. In the back of his mind, he’d waited for the floor—the floor that up ‘til then had been _safe_ —to come alive and shock him into misery. He’d just known he was going to be punished, but punishment had never come and Danny grew more anxious by the second while he waited for Bad Things to happen. Maybe the floor wouldn’t hurt him; maybe he’d get the lash, that happened even more than the floor he thought. Then he’d heard Steve calling his name and he’d _known_ that the only reason it hadn’t happened yet was because he couldn’t find Danny. So, Danny went to him since he had an idea that it would hurt even more if Steve had to search him out. The Boss had never needed to do that, but Danny knows if he had then it would’ve been a thousand times worse and it was best to avoid that even if the beatings couldn’t be.

Unable to stand it any longer, he’d come down from the attic and trying to curb himself some mercy, he’d even taken the other belt Steve had dug out of a box for him to wear. All of that done, Danny had gone to Steve and found him looking for him in the backyard.

“Danny,” Steve had said and trotted towards him, a beer in one hand already. “Where were you? I’ve been calling for you.”

“Here,” Danny had said and offered Steve the belt, blinking rapidly at him as he’d waited for Steve to slap him. Sometimes The Boss had used his hands, but only on Danny’s back where his teeth couldn’t reach.

“What’s this?” Steve had asked as he took the belt.

“Punish,” Danny had said and nodded as he’d let out a heavy breath. “Yeah.”

He’d turned around then and pulled his shirt off, offering his back to Steve, but the belt never came down on his skin. Instead Steve had said, “Oh, God, Danny, _no_.”

“But… _bad_ ,” Danny had said. “Made you mad and mad means _beat_.”

He’d said it in a way like he was _explaining_ to Steve how things were meant to be done, but he hadn’t realized that.

“Shit,” Steve had said and took Danny’s shoulders in his hands, turning him around. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Are so, saw it,” Danny said and then cocked his head. “ _Smelled_ it.”

“I was upset, sure, but I’m not… I _will not_ beat you for that,” Steve had said, taking Danny’s face in his hands. “Did… Did the person who had you, did they do that to you?”

“Sure,” Danny had said simply even as he’d shuddered at the memories. “Lots.”

“Christ,” Steve had said and pulled Danny to him. “I won’t do that, not ever, do you understand me? I won’t hurt you, Danny. No more, remember?”

Danny had been quiet for a long time, leaning against Steve and listening to the ocean rushing over the sand. He could hear Steve’s heart beating and smell the beer, faint on the breeze and Steve’s breath where he had his lips pressed to the top of Danny’s head in a kiss. He’d sorted all of that out in his mind, had told himself that Steve meant it; he wouldn’t ever hurt Danny even if he was bad. He hadn’t meant to be bad, but he had been and Steve had been mad, but no, he wasn’t going to punish him.

“No more,” Danny had finally said and nodded as he’d pulled away from Steve to grin at him.

No more was: _no more_ being hurt or hungry or having to hurt others. He was surprised how easily he had forgotten the very first part of it. The Danny-that-was- _Danny_ had known why though: he’d forgotten because he’d been conditioned to think any kind of misbehavior would bring pain. It didn’t matter what he _knew_ intellectually, it was what he knew subconsciously that took the reins after he saw Steve’s reaction to the dead clock. He’d licked Steve’s face and nodded again before taking his hand and leading him back into the house since it was safe to go inside. He’d left the belt lying right there in the grass and that’s where it still lays.

Danny also stays out of the living room now in case there’s something else in there that ticks. He keeps out other than to cross it to make it into the kitchen unless Steve is home with him; he doesn’t want to break anything else of Steve’s. Besides, the kitchen is where the food is and that makes it a better room anyway, even if he does have to stand up to see the microwave clock. Danny can stand for hours now without much trouble because he’d often been forced to do that, all the grates in the floor on save one where he’d have to stand until The Boss got tired of that, too.

Danny sighs worriedly at that new thought of The Boss and shifts on his feet a bit, looking out the window over the kitchen sink and half expecting to see his handsome, mean face looking back. There’s nothing there but sunlight though, falling into the sink and filling it with golden light that dust dances in and through. He glances away from the sink to look at the clock again only to snap his head back towards the window when he hears an approaching car engine. He knows that sound, he memorized it the first time he ever heard it and he smiles then.

“Steve,” Danny says and moves from his spot in the kitchen, heading to the front door where he stops and waits. In a few minutes Steve will be home and Danny’s hips sway side to side as he wags without his tail. He watches the door anxiously, happily; eyes shining like chips of glacial ice in the dark entryway.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve pulls up a few minutes later, kills his truck and then stares at the house. It’s been a bitch of a day, working a case involving child pornography and getting nowhere on it. They have a prime suspect for the ringleader, a rich, oily bastard who’s covered his ass so well he thinks he’s untouchable. The infuriating fact of the matter is that right now that’s true. Five-0 can’t do a damned thing other than try to watch him; questioning leads them nowhere—the bastard won’t crack and if any of them take a swing at the guy then there goes the whole case, ass over elbows, because this is one sonofabitch that would rain hell down on them for brutality and he’d have marks to back it up. He’s got the money and the power, which means he has the lawyers. Steve feels like the man—no, the _monster_ —is laughing at all of them. He wants this fucker in a bad way and he’s totally stuck where he is, so are Chin and Kono and Steve’s mad enough about it that he thinks he could spit nails.

With a tired, frustrated huff of breath, he takes out the flask he keeps in the glove compartment and takes a long drink from it; a drink that he feels is well deserved and helps to fortify him. He falls back on liquor far too easily now and even as the Johnny Walker burns in his throat he lets out a sigh that feels like the first breath he’s _really_ taken all day. Steve also feels a wash of shame. He _needs_ it though, he absolutely believes that… even if he does know better. With a grimace, he takes another swallow from the flask, screws the cap on it and throws it back into the glove box so hard it hits the rear of the compartment with a metallic thunk.

He supposes he expected some magical fix; one day Danny would come back, be found or at least his bones would be and then he’d have his closure. Somewhere in his mind, he’d been promising himself that when he _knew_ he’d simply stop drinking because he wouldn’t need it anymore. Well, he realizes now how wrong he was and as he gets out of his truck, he thinks he can feel the hooks of the addiction digging into his brain.

“The brain has no nerve endings,” he mutters to himself, but that doesn’t help at all. This is going to be hard, what he’s about to do and there’s no way he can do it stone cold sober. Not anymore anyway.

Danny has been with him a week and it’s been a hell of a week, wonderful and terrifying and heartbreaking. It’s hard to reconcile all of those contradictory emotions with one another, but something about Danny makes Steve uneasy now; there’s something _off_ about him. Oh, sure, he knows he has mental problems and that’s to be expected. _That_ isn’t the weird part of it, not even close.

He remembers the night Max came by to check Danny out and Danny had let him, he’d been complacent with everything Max was doing—until Max had tried to draw blood. He’d grabbed Max’s wrist then and stopped his arm like it was nothing and he’d held him there, Max unable to pull his arm back or push it forward.

“Detective Williams, you are hurting me,” Max had said and Danny had merely tilted his head slightly to the side, studying Max like he was a mildly interesting insect.

“Danny, he just needs to draw some blood to make sure you’re not sick or anything,” Steve had told him.

Danny had shaken his head. “No,” he’d said in his raw voice. “No.”

“Please, let me go,” Max had said and Steve had watched as Danny had instead squeezed his wrist tighter, Max’s face screwing up into a grimace of pain.

“Danny, let him go,” Steve had said and taken hold of his fingers to try and pull his hand away, but it had felt like trying to unwrap steel bands.

“No blood?” Danny had asked, his head shifting slowly to the opposite direction.

“No, no blood,” Max had said, gasping it out as he’d opened his fingers to drop the syringe. “You have… my word.”

“Okay,” Danny had said and then he’d let Max go, easy as that.

What Steve remembers most was the alien look in his eyes, the calculating wariness as he’d assessed the situation. It hadn’t been—Steve doesn’t really know, but for the second time that night he’d had the impression he wasn’t looking at _Danny_. Or maybe it was that it hadn’t been Danny looking at _them_.

Steve’s had a rough day and thinking about all the things that have come before it are only making the low-grade migraine he seems to be getting that much worse. He finally had a chance to speak with Max again, the bruises left by Danny’s fingers still visible on his wrist and Max told him—again—that from what he’d been able to ascertain, Danny is _healthy_ aside from the obvious malnutrition. He’s seriously underweight, but a lot of the problems stemming from that don’t seem to be at all present.

“It simply doesn’t add up,” Max had told Steve down in the cold morgue. Then he’d shoved his glasses up his nose and gave Steve an encouraging smile. “Detective Williams is very lucky, I think.”

“Yeah,” Steve had said. “What about brain damage? His eyes—I understand that head trauma can cause that.”

“True, certain types of injuries can cause a lightening or darkening of the iris, but not a total change in eye color,” Max had said and pushed at his glasses again; Steve’s learned it’s a nervous habit of his.

“But?” Steve had prompted.

“But whatever has happened to Detective Williams’s eyes is not that,” Max had said. “The eye color is obviously different, like I said and as I am sure you’ve seen. That is called sectoral heterochromia and people are _born_ with it; it isn’t… made… for lack of a better word.”

“Danny’s eyes weren’t always like that,” Steve had said.

“Perhaps they were,” Max had offered. “Perhaps he wore contacts before.”

“No,” Steve had said, but he’d been thinking _maybe_.

It was possible, Danny was always weirdly private about some things, but Steve couldn’t recall ever having seen a contact lens holder or lens solution at Danny’s. Nor had he ever noticed Danny using anything like that when he’d stayed over at his place. Even with all that to consider, Steve guesses there’s still the slim chance Danny had been hiding some odd genetic goof under contact lenses. He doesn’t really believe that though, but the thing is: he doesn’t know what to believe, especially not now that his theory has been shot out of the water by a highly competent medical professional.

Steve’s not ready to call Danny’s family in New Jersey yet, but there’s someone on the island who may know anyway. He’d thought of that and so, he’d called Rachel, but he hadn’t told her anything. Going into it cold seems a bit, well, _cold_ , but Steve wants to see her reaction to Danny’s eyes. He’s not too worried about that part, regardless, it’s every other part of her reaction that leaves him with a feeling of trepidation, but there’d been no easy way to tell her over the phone either; she needs to see for herself, Steve thinks. Honestly, talking to Max had served as more of a reminder that he needed to get in touch with her than anything else; she’s the mother of Danny’s child and they’d been friends even if they had argued half the time. He thought that their arguments, much like the ones Steve himself had with Danny, had been a part of the Williams Bonding Experience.

Steve’s got his hand on the front doorknob and he’s thinking about all of that, thinking about how Rachel will be there in another hour and that just behind that door, Danny is waiting for him. Danny is just behind the door. Danny is _there_. It’s wonderful and amazing and…

And Steve really needs a drink.

He turns the knob and for a second before the sunlight completely chases the shadows away, he sees a faint, pale blue glimmer in the darkness. He’s seen it more than once since the first night Danny came back; he’s woken up from drunken stupors in his bed not knowing how he got there because he clearly remembered passing out on the couch only to find those same shining eyes watching him from the darkness.

Steve thinks he’s starting to hallucinate fairly badly and that worries him a lot. He blames it on the alcohol, knows (again and again and _again_ ) that he should quit because if he’s seeing things then it’s getting really bad. 

“Steve,” Danny says as the sunlight touches him and Steve stops thinking about the glittering eyes and smiles when he sees him standing there. 

“Hey, Danno,” Steve says and walks into the house, something relaxing inside of him that feels like liquid and light at the sight of Danny. There is some small part of Steve that always expects to open the door now and not find Danny waiting on the other side of it. He’s been gone for so long, he can’t quite let himself believe Danny’s even real sometimes. Because _sometimes_ , for a little bit, Steve could convince himself that this wondrous thing that’s happened is just another hallucination.

Right now though Danny’s coming towards him on his quick, silent feet and he’s smiling and Steve feels himself smiling right back as he meets him halfway. Everyday is like a reunion now, Steve comes home from work and it’s like he’s finding Danny in the kitchen all over again. Except now Danny is clean and smells of soap, shampoo and shaving cream; not ocean water and filth. His hair is short and neat, his face is clean shaven and he’s got on his own clothes that still drape on him more than they really _fit_.

Steve never has believed in miracles, but this has to be one; it just has to be. Danny wraps his arms around him and pats his back and Steve squeezes him back. Once, he may’ve balked at the idea of so much hugging, but not anymore even though it still feels like Danny is the one comforting _him_ a lot of the time. Steve breathes Danny in and wonders how much Danny can still read between his lines if he’s really doing that.

They step apart and Steve really looks at Danny and shakes his head. “You couldn’t resist the chops, huh?”

Danny looks down at the half-eaten pork chop in his hand and brings it up to his face to sniff it. “Smelled good,” he says and cuts his eyes to look at Steve again. “Left yours though.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, as ever worried about Danny making himself sick eating raw meat the way he does. He’s tried explaining that to Danny and all he got for the trouble was Danny looking at him like he’d lost his mind; like what he was saying was the most ridiculous shit he’d ever heard in his life. It had caught Steve by surprise and he’d laughed before he could think not to. Danny may not say much anymore, but his expressions are still all his. Steve can fill in the blanks from those alone.

Steve jerks his head for Danny to come on and goes straight to the kitchen, gets himself a beer and a bottle of water for Danny. He checks the pork chops, notes that Danny did indeed leave him his two and also seems to’ve used his hands to open the pack this time instead of chewing through the paper as he had the first couple of times. He doesn’t know how to tell Danny that Rachel is coming over in a little while and as he watches Danny nibbling at his raw pork chop, he tries to guess how Rachel is going to react.

The best thing Steve can think of is that he should at least get Danny to finish the chop or put it away while Rachel is there. There’s enough about this that’s going to be upsetting for the both of them, she doesn’t need to see her ex-husband eating raw pork to add to it.

“So, hey, you remember when Chin and Kono came to see you?” Steve asks as he sits at the kitchen table.

Danny stops nosing at his food to look at him and nods. “Yeah, she cried,” he says with a huff of breath.

Kono hadn’t cried in front of Danny, she’d excused herself from the room, but when she’d come back, eyes red-rimmed, Danny had sniffed the air and told her to not be sad. He’d said she should be _hap-py_ and Kono had laughed then and agreed that she could be that—that she was—if he wanted her to be.

Steve clears his throat and nods. “Well, someone else is coming to see you tonight.”

Danny totally abandons his chop then and moves over to the table by Steve to sit in his usual seat. He looks anxious, a little afraid and this is delicate business. Steve’s never been very good at things like being _delicate_ , so he has to really think about it.

“Do you remember Rachel?” Steve asks him and Danny snaps to attention at that.

“Yeah,” he says and shifts in his seat some. “Remember Rachel.”

“Okay, well… Rachel is coming to see you tonight,” Steve says.

Danny gives him a sharp look, head lowering a little and Steve wonders what he’s said. Then Danny says, “Rachel gave me _Grace_ and got a Step-Stan.” He huffs and tugs at his earlobe, eyes far away as he looks for the words. “Rachel can’t bring Grace. _Can’t_. Don’t want…”

He gestures at himself and gives Steve a meaningful look. Steve understands, his heart sinks, but he understands. Danny doesn’t want Grace to see him like he is now and that hurts his heart in a bad way. It’s not that he can’t dig it, he can; for fuck’s sake, he’s _thought_ it. For Danny to still be willing to keep himself from Grace after all these years lets him know that Danny knows how messed up he is. Steve had, until now, kind of thought it was a small mercy if maybe Danny wasn’t entirely aware of how changed he is. Danny has never been stupid and he’s still in there, so _of course_ he knows and Steve wonders what kind of hell that must make all of this for him.

“Alright,” Steve says slowly and then sips his beer. Then he takes a gulp of it. Then he puts it back on the table and has to fight down the urge to pick it up again and drain it. Goddamn, his coping skills have gone the way of the dinosaur, that’s all there is to it. Steve lets out a careful, calming breath and nods to himself before looking at Danny again, pointedly ignoring the beer for now. “Grace will want to know you’re home now though and she’ll want to see you. What do you want to do?”

“No,” Danny says and shakes his head violently. “She _can’t_ see.”

“Danny, I don’t mean right now, I mean… I mean later, when you’re better,” Steve says. “Rachel isn’t bringing her tonight, I made her swear she wouldn’t.”

Rachel thinks he’s lost his damned mind because of his insistence that she come alone, but she’d agreed at last and Rachel does keep her promises. Steve hopes Danny remembers that or this is going to go badly before it ever even gets started.

“Do _you_ swear?” Danny asks.

Steve watches him carefully and there it is again, that weird sensation of being studied— _appraised_ —by something else that isn’t entirely Danny. It gives Steve the willies, to be perfectly honest because there is something _dangerous_ in that other look or at least something that promises it could be. The way it at times seems to slide and mix into Danny’s own gaze is even more unnerving because it’s like looking at two pieces of one whole. It confuses Steve and sometimes he thinks, _He’s got split personalities now_ , which is a scary thought in and of itself.

“I do, I swear, if you’re not ready to see her then no one’s going to make you,” Steve says and thinks about how _badly_ Grace is going to react should she find out anyway only to be stopped from seeing her father. Shit, this is just a mess and Steve can see it from both sides, which only makes it worse for him. He can take it though, he can. He tells himself that as he picks up his beer for another swallow and mentally does what he thinks of as Beer Math: mentally counting up how many Long Boards are in his fridge and working out if that’s enough to last him for the night.

He comes to the alarming—yes, alarming—conclusion that it isn’t. They’ll last long enough for Rachel’s visit though.

Danny taps his fingers on the table and is quiet for a long time. Steve finishes his first beer in that silence and Danny eats the rest of his pork chop almost absently. Steve’s halfway through his second beer when Danny finally speaks.

“Picture,” he says and taps his fingers faster on the table as he nods to himself. “Picture of Grace? I want to see. Please?”

Steve nods, he can do that, he sees no harm in it and he’s got pictures of her in his wallet from every grade she’s been in since Danny disappeared and one from the grade she was in at the time. “I can do that,” Steve tells him with a smile as he leans forward in his seat to get his wallet from his back pocket.

“Remembered,” Danny says with a smile when he sees Steve’s wallet.

Steve laughs softly. “I do that now, yeah.” He gets all the pictures of Grace from his wallet—the thing is getting mighty crowded now there are so many pictures in it—and lays them all out in order in front of Danny for him to look at. “There she is.”

“Oh,” Danny says as he looks at the pictures, touching each one of them—another year of Grace growing up that he’s missed—in turn. “She’s so big. Gracie is all grown up.”

“Almost,” Steve says and his heart twists in his chest again as he looks at Danny’s thin, sad face as he touches the pictures of his daughter with light, brushing fingers, like he’s smoothing her hair down.

“I missed—” Danny starts and then stops, his words failing him again. He’s been back a week now and while he’s still not exactly _chatty_ , he’s gotten much better at putting words together, making sentences in that broken voice of his. “I missed _everything_.”

He whispers the last and looks away from the pictures, head drooping down until his chin is nearly touching his chest and Steve has to swallow back a lump in his throat. This is heartbreaking to him to watch and no one but Danny has ever had this kind of effect on him, at least not this strongly. To hear those words in Danny’s rust-creaky voice while he’s looking at the scars all over his forearms and hands, Steve thinks he could maybe have himself a good cry about it all because it’s _fucked up_ and _wrong_. Danny shouldn’t have missed a thing and instead he’s missed three years, which Steve has learned is a _lot_ of time when a kid is growing up; so much changes so fast that it’s like _blink-gone_.

“You missed a lot, sure,” Steve says. He won’t lie to Danny about it; placations will do no good here. “But not everything, there’s still a lot to go. She has proms and homecomings and graduation and college all ahead of her. You’re here now and you can see all of that when you’re ready.”

Danny shakes his head and looks at the pictures again, touching the newest one lightly. Grace’s long hair hangs over one side of her face like a dark, shining waterfall and her sad eyes gleam in her smiling face. “Missed _her_ ,” he says. “It… It got hard to… Didn’t want to…”

He grits his teeth and tugs at his earlobe again, making a frustrated sound that whines through his teeth. “Was hard to remember because it _hurt_ , but couldn’t forget.”

Steve nods, he can understand that, too. He’s never been wherever Danny was, but he knows what he’s trying to say. “Danny what happened?” he asks him for what, by now, is the thousandth time it feels like.

“Lot happened,” Danny says, eyes dark and far away. “Keep?” he asks as he picks up the pictures of Grace. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Steve says and thinks how “lot happened” is not a fucking answer. He doesn’t know how to get the story out of Danny the way he is now because he won’t talk about it at all; every answer he gives—when he even deigns to give one—is vague and evasive, something shuttered in his expression. Steve gets that he’s scared and messed up about what happened, but sometimes he gets the feeling that Danny isn’t telling him because he’s _protecting_ him.

“Danny, look, you need to talk to me about what happened to you,” he tries again. “You need to tell me who took you so I can arrest them.”

“Dangerous,” Danny says and pushes his chair back from the table. “Won’t do that, Steve.”

“You _have_ to or else they’re going to get away with it,” Steve says, rising to follow Danny, beer in hand. “You can’t tell me you want that.”

Danny’s shoulders go stiff and he keeps his back to Steve, some strange sound rolling in his throat, too faint for Steve to totally make out. “Don’t have to,” Danny says, voice tight with anger, but Steve knows it’s not anger directed _at_ him. “And no, don’t want them to get away, but… But _dangerous_.” He turns to look at Steve and walks back to him, laying one hand on his chest. “For you. Can’t know.”

“I have to know,” Steve snaps at him. “You can’t expect me to leave it alone, even if it is dangerous. I want to get these bastards.”

“Me, too,” Danny says and then shakes his head. “He’s not _for_ you.”

“Then who is he for? Wait: It’s a _he_ , you mean just one person?” Steve asks, latching onto the one thing Danny’s given him.

“He’s for _me_ ,” Danny says, lips wrinkling back from his teeth and pushes lightly at Steve. “For us. Not you, Steve. He’ll hurt you and that’s _no_.” He opens his mouth to say more, but then taps his temple with a troubled expression and doesn’t continue.

“What? Danny, what?” Steve asks as Danny takes his hand away and starts walking again. “Who’s _us_?”

“Us is _we_ ,” is all Danny says before he tips his head back and tilts it to the side a bit. “Car.”

“Huh?” Steve says, completely thrown off by everything Danny’s just said—and not said, really. All of this “we” and “us” makes him think there are more people after all, people like Danny, but then he thinks his other thought, the split personality thought and can’t help but wonder. He has _got_ to find a psychiatrist that they can trust and soon, he’s been putting it off, but it really can’t wait any longer, Steve’s certain of it.

“Car,” Danny says again and Steve blinks as he at last hears the purr of an engine coming up the drive.

“You’ve got to tell me how you do that,” Steve says and that time, Danny grins at him, all the trouble washing from his eyes. 

“Top secret… babe,” he says and cocks his head at the word then nods and says it again. “Babe. That’s you.”

“I know,” Steve says with a quick smile and then drains his second beer as the car draws to a stop outside. He knows it’s Rachel and she’s early and this is not going to be at all fun. Looking at Danny, he gestures for him to sit on the couch. “That’s Rachel, okay? You just wait here.”

“Rachel, okay,” Danny says with a frown as he goes to sit on the sofa. He pulls his feet up on the cushion, knees pressed to his chest and his shattered eyes peering over their tops, watchful and alert. The position should look self-protective or withdrawn, but something about the way Danny’s holding himself makes it look more like he’s waiting to spring or run away.

“Be good,” Steve says, once again remembering Max.

“I will,” Danny says and Steve nods, making himself believe Danny.

“Here goes,” he says and makes a quick detour to the kitchen for a fresh beer then heads for the door to meet Rachel before she just lets herself in.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Rachel is coming up the porch steps when Steve slips out the front door. She doesn’t know why he’s called to ask her over here this evening or why he was so insistent over the phone that she leave Grace at home. She’s worried and maybe just a little annoyed. After Danny disappeared, she and Steve had spent a lot of time together and she has learned that while he’s an unbelievably _good_ man, he can also be insufferable sometimes. He’s stubborn, paranoid, high-strung (even if he doesn’t like people knowing that) and a bit of a control freak. Rachel has, on more than one occasion, dearly wanted to smack him for those qualities; those same qualities that help to make him such a good man when they’re put to good use. However, Rachel had determined in short order that allowing Steve to organize her first aid kit in order of most needed items to less likely to be used items was letting him go too far.

“What is this about, Steven?” she asks as he comes toward her.

Rachel notes the beer in his hand and wonders how many he’s drank since getting home. Yes, she’s noticed his drinking and she’s sure she’s not the only one. It’s been a sad sight to see, watching Steve go from an occasional six pack to sometimes eighteen or twenty beers a _night_. That’s when he’s not drinking hard liquor or maybe he mixes the two, she can’t say, but the point is: she knows and he’s not fooling her even if he maybe is still managing to fool his coworkers. She’s tried to talk to him about it more than once, but he shut down on her so quick she could practically hear all of his walls slamming up and closing her out. The number one thing with alcoholics is that they have to admit _to themselves_ they have a problem or else she could yell herself blue in the face and not a word of it would ever sink in. She knows that now.

She also doesn’t miss the look on his face, strained and grave, tense around his eyes as he stops a couple of feet from her. They stand there on the porch, looking at one another and after a moment, Rachel taps her foot impatiently. “Well?” she prompts.

Steve clears his throat and looks away, casting his eyes down at the whitewashed boards of the porch. He sips his beer and then he looks at her again, this time a tentative smile tugging at his lips. “I have something to show you,” he says.

“That’s certainly vague,” Rachel says and purses her lips. “What, exactly, do you have to show me that it needed to be top secret and couldn’t wait ‘til the weekend when I am off work? You know Grace’s birthday isn’t for another three months and if you’ve bought her a horse then I may have to be annoyed with you.”

Grace has been going on about having a horse for nearly a year now and Rachel won’t let her have one. She has a veritable menagerie of pets now as it is; she’s more interested in animals than she is humans as a rule, so Rachel has to contend with, in no particular order: three hamsters, a rat (which she has secretly become fond of, clever little devil), three “official” cats and various strays, two dogs—one of which is roughly the size of a car, a dwarf rabbit and a small tortoise that Grace found about a month back. His name is Mr. Peanut. _Because he has a shell, mom,_ Grace had told her like the origin of the tortoise’s name should’ve been obvious.

“Ah… no,” Steve says, but she can tell by the slight shift in his eyes that he’s _thought_ about it at least and she just made him plain as day. “It’s… Rachel, it’s… Come inside.”

“More of this vague nonsense,” Rachel says, but she follows him when he turns around. Her skin is prickling faintly with goosebumps as she goes.

Steve is an odd man on the best of days, but she’s learned to deal with that quite well, in fact, she rather likes him for his subtle eccentricities, but this almost feels ominous to her. The way Steve is behaving is making her a little uncomfortable, truthfully. He’s a secretive sort, all of that military training has made him so, but this is a bit much. Because it’s been a long day and Grace got sent home from school for fighting _again_ —hello, three day suspension, you have arrived, she thinks sourly—Rachel’s temper is a bit short.

“I’m sorry, Rachel,” Steve says, stopping with his hand on the doorknob. “I just… you need to see for yourself.”

For a second she thinks it’s a damned horse after all, but then he twists the doorknob and pushes the door open, starting to go inside. Instead, he steps back, almost like he’s been gently pushed and what—who—comes around him and out onto the porch has Rachel stumbling back a step herself.

“Danny?” she asks, hand going to her mouth and eyes the size of saucers.

She can’t believe what she’s seeing, not really. The scrawny man standing on Steve’s front porch is her long-missing ex-husband. His clothes hang on him and his hair is nearly shorn completely off, but dear God, she recognizes him. Even after all this time and all the changes in Danny’s appearance, Rachel still knows him.

“Oh, my God,” she says as he steps towards her, head tilted curiously. Rachel feels a lump in her throat at the sight of him, the wasted, skinny, _glorious_ sight of him. “Danny?” she says again and takes a halting step towards him.

He nods and reaches out a hand that she notices is twisted with scars all along it, some raised and others not. “Rachel,” he says and pats her shoulder.

Rachel chokes back a sob as she smiles at him and behind them, Steve stands like a watchman, keeping an oddly close eye on Danny, she notices. “Oh, my God,” she says again and then hugs him, yanking him close and wrapping her arms around him. The sob finally breaks in her throat and she presses her face against his shoulder to try and muffle it.

Danny pats her back and makes a low, strange sound in the back of his throat that she understands is meant to be comforting. He noses her hair and pushes lightly against the side of her head with his face. “It’s okay,” he says. “Okay.”

“It is, I know, it’s just… you’re _here_ ,” Rachel says, pulling back to smile at him and even through her happiness, she can’t miss that there is something different about Danny. His eyes are a big clue, cracked and differently colored now. There’s something watchful in them, something wary and strange that she can’t put a finger on and the way he moves; head tilting to one side and then the other, expression curiously alert as he looks at her.

“Guys, maybe we should go inside,” Steve says, still standing by the open front door. “So we can talk.”

Danny nods and takes Rachel’s right wrist in his hand to tug it lightly. “Yeah, inside. Come,” he says to Rachel and starts to lead her into the house.

She has so many questions. How did Steve find him? _When_ did Steve find him? Have they caught the people responsible for taking Danny in the first place? What’s _wrong_ with Danny? Why didn’t anyone _tell_ her?

On and on the questions go, unspooling in her mind until she can’t even begin to figure out where to start. So, as Danny leads her by Steve, who is finishing off his beer, Rachel just gives him a look that plainly states: _I want answers and I want them_ now, _Steven_.

Once they’re inside the house, Danny lets go of her arm and she sits with a thump on the end of the sofa. Her legs feel wobbly, knees watery and weak, as she swallows back another lump in her throat. Danny is standing there, looking down at her with an intensity she doesn’t remember ever having seen in him before. She can still barely believe she’s looking at him right now, after all this time and can only look back, blinking up at him with her still-wide eyes.

She never thought she’d see him again, not after the first six months he was missing. Bit by bit, her hope of anything other than Danny’s body being found gradually abandoned her until she _knew_ he was dead. Rachel has kept up the pretense of hoping Danny will be found alive for Grace and only for her. She’s seen that same weary look in Steve’s eyes; something hopeless and heartbroken taking up residence there as the days have passed. He never gave up though and Rachel feels guilty for having done so herself now that she’s sitting here in Steve’s living room, looking back at Danny who finally moves to sit on the other end of the couch.

Steve’s standing in the middle of the living room, looking back and forth between them with his hands in his pockets. Rachel isn’t accustomed to seeing him look so unsure of anything; so nervous and when he smiles at last, she feels a bit better.

“When?” she says and cuts her eyes to the side to glance at Danny. He’s sitting on the arm of the couch, elbows on his knees, as alertly curious looking as he’d been on the porch a moment ago. 

“Ah… a week ago,” Steve says and for that, he won’t look at her.

“What?” Rachel snaps at him. “A whole week and you’re just now getting around to telling me about this? Why?”

“Because… just…” Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose then rubs his forehead as he looks over at Danny, too. “It was late when he showed up and then…”

“Late,” Rachel says and sucks at her teeth. “Right. Because for something like this, waking me up just seemed too _rude_ to you. Perfectly reasonable.”

The sarcasm is hard to miss and neither is her sudden, somewhat surprising, anger. However, Steve isn’t the one who’s watched Grace slowly withdraw into herself over time and start acting out. He knows, of course he does, Steve has wedged himself into their lives—and he’s perfectly welcome there—but at the end of the day, he goes back home and because of that, he’s never seen it _all_. He doesn’t know about Grace cuddling her rat or one of the dogs and telling them about her Danno even though she should be, logically speaking, too old for such fanciful behavior. They’re the words of a little girl who has no friends—and now has no interest in having them either—who still wants her father to come home. He hasn’t listened to her sobbing in her sleep as she got older and another year passed without Danny coming home and with that year, her tenaciously clung to hope eventually started abandoning her as well. Now here he is telling Rachel that Danny’s been back a whole week. What Rachel suddenly wants to know is: Who died and made Steve McGarrett God?

“What gives you the right?” she asks when Steve shifts on his feet and looks at the floor again. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Rachel tries to breathe, she’s—deep down—almost ashamed of herself for reacting this way. But _damnit to hell_ , Steve should’ve told her sooner.

“Rachel, look, it’s not like I was doing it to be mean,” Steve says and he’s almost pleading with her. “It’s not. When he came here—he found me, not the other way around—he was filthy and upset and I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Rachel says, her voice suddenly going cold. “It’s been three years, you know that as well as I do and you should have called the moment you saw him.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry,” Steve says and shifts on his feet a bit more; a two step sideways shuffle towards the kitchen—and the beer, Rachel is sure—and doesn’t even seem aware of it. “It’s just that I wanted to have him checked out by a doctor and all. He was really messed up, I didn’t want you to see that.”

“So, it was for my own good, hmm?” Rachel asks him.

“Yeah, I mean— _Shit_ ,” Steve suddenly snarls and drags a hand down his face. “I didn’t think you’d be this pissed.”

“Apparently you thought wrong,” Rachel says, jutting her chin out.

“Apparently!” Steve snaps at her. “I thought you’d be happy about this.”

“I am happy about this, but what I am not happy about is you taking it upon yourself to decide what’s best for me—and my daughter,” Rachel says right back. “I’d have been happier _a week ago_.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, fighting back the anger that’s still shocking her in its ferocity, but in the back of her mind she is replaying every conversation she’s ever overheard between Grace and one of the pets. She’s counting up every black eye Grace has come home with after another fight. She’s cataloging how many times she’s hand to disinfect and bandage her little girl’s scraped knuckles from said fights. Hell yes, she’s pissed off now.

“Fine, if that’s how you want to feel about it, be my fucking guest, Rachel,” Steve says, voice rising a few octaves as he really starts to get mad right back. “I am telling you now—I am _showing_ you—that Danny is alive and we—he’s here. He’s _here_ , so why don’t you just be glad of that fact and get off my case.”

“That is how I want to feel about it and I am glad about it, but I _will not_ get off your case,” Rachel says as she gets up off the sofa. If she’d known about this a week ago, she could’ve told Grace and maybe the fight she got into today at school—with a _boy_ , no less—could’ve been avoided. “You ass,” she tacks on despite herself. She’s been trying to avoid name-calling, but her own temper has failed her as it so often does, much to her chagrin.

Rachel is yet again tempted to smack Steve, in fact for this, she’s not so much _tempted_ to do it. She _wants_ to do it and like a person in a dream, she feels herself raising her arm to draw back so she can. She wants to slap him so hard his fucking ears ring for a week and her palm stings viciously. Steve’s watching her and she knows he sees it coming, but he stands his ground because the man has always been something of a masochist when it comes to these things; his guilt complex won’t allow anything less of him. Still, when she actually feels her palm connect with his cheek, she’s startled enough she actually jumps a bit at the sound of it and steps back even as his head snaps to the side, appalled at herself.

She didn’t know she had so much buried inside of her, everything from Danny’s disappearance, to the changes in Grace that started out so subtle she barely noticed them, to her divorce from Stan because he dared get _annoyed_ with her spending his money to fund search campaigns for Danny. Now here he is, alive and in one piece and she’s lived on for another week, completely oblivious and all of that stuff she’s pushed down inside and tried to bury; that has gone unacknowledged, at last has come rushing out—and through—her and Steve is the recipient of that anger.

As they’ve argued, Danny has sat there silently, looking between the two of them like a man watching a tennis match. They’ve been so wrapped up in their own squabbling, the fact is they’ve kind of forgotten about him. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he’s standing between them. He’s still looking back and forth at them, but there’s something different in his expression as he pushes Steve with one hand and Rachel with the other.

“No,” he says in his crackling, rough voice. “ _No_.”

He turns to Steve and worriedly touches his reddened cheek, Rachel’s handprint standing out sharply against the tan of his skin. Then he looks back at her and he’s glaring now and Rachel doesn’t like that look _at all_.

“You don’t hurt,” Danny tells her and taps her in the middle of the forehead. “You never _hurt_.”

“Danny, I’m sorry,” Rachel says, blinking at the tap to her forehead. “I just got upset, that’s all. It’s been… very difficult… since you’ve been gone.”

“Hard, yeah, okay, but still _no_ ,” Danny says. Then he growls and Rachel eyeballs him for that. “Understand?”

She feels her skin prickle again at the way Danny’s watching her. He’s not laid a hand on her—she doesn’t think he would—but she doesn’t want to test that theory either; not with the way he’s behaving now. She gets that Steve almost told her that he was “well” and stopped himself and she sees clearly that he isn’t that at all. Skinny or not, he seems physically healthy, but mentally? No, not so much and now that she’s really looking she can kind of understand Steve’s position on this better although she still, beyond a shadow of a doubt, thinks he should’ve let her know immediately.

Then he turns and looks at Steve, that same glare making his eyes bright-dark and repeats himself. “Understand?”

Steve nods his head and says, “I understand, I do.”

“Good,” Danny says and relaxes a fraction, but he doesn’t move from between the two of them either. “Good.”

Rachel swallows and smoothes her hands over her slacks and says, “How about we all sit down and have a civilized conversation then?”

She smiles at Danny, ignoring the twist in her chest when she looks at him. Something is wrong here, she doesn’t know what, but _something_ is. Oh, yes, she knows awful things have happened to Danny; have been _done_ to Danny, but his behavior is still so off. Rachel sits back down and watches Steve’s eyes shifting back and forth between them before he heads off to the kitchen. After a moment to reconsider, she supposes she can’t have expected Danny to be normal mentally either and she’s over-thinking things here; Danny’s been traumatized and the last thing he needs to see is two people he cares about fighting over him.

He scratches behind his ear with the tips of his fingers as she looks on, the rapid _scritch-scritch-scritch_ sound of it; the motion, makes Rachel raise her eyebrows slightly. It reminds her of something, but it’s hard to place because somehow, seeing Danny do it makes it out of… context… she supposes.

In the kitchen she hears the fridge door close then the quick _psst_ -hiss of a bottle opening. She smiles at Danny when she hears the freezer door open, the hum of the motor blowing cold air suddenly seeming very loud. Danny looks at her and then looks to the kitchen, head cocked and listening to the small, secretive sounds of Steve’s alcoholism broadcasting themselves into the living room despite his efforts to be quiet.

“It’s alright, Danny,” Rachel says to him and then pats the sofa cushion. “Won’t you sit down?”

Danny shifts his weight on his feet then he nods and moves towards the couch again. Rachel notices the way he moves, weight on the balls of his feet. It’s only a couple of steps, but she sees it and that explains Danny’s almost loping gait. Again, her thoughts drift towards something, but she brushes it off as absurd and before she can even consider further entertaining the matter, Steve comes back.

He’s got a beer, but that’s no surprise and Rachel simply smiles at him, a silent apology, as he takes a seat in the armchair. The silence stretches out after that and grows uncomfortable for Rachel and Steve as well, she can see it in the way he’s drinking his beer and the subtle way he shifts his weight in his seat. Danny doesn’t seem that uncomfortable; he’s sitting quietly and looking back and forth between them. He’s kind of tense and seems a bit wary, but Rachel doesn’t think that has anything to do with her, Steve or their protracted silence. She sees it the most in the flickering glances he darts at the windows every few seconds.

This needs to stop, they can’t very well sit here like a small group of strangers with the silence so thick between them she can hear the faint dripping of the kitchen faucet. Rachel thinks, trying to come up with something to say or do that can break this unpleasant bubble they’ve gotten trapped in and then something occurs to her.

Turning to look at Danny, she says, “Would you like to see some video of Grace’s last piano recital? She’s gotten quite good.”

Danny perks up at that, back straightening and eyes brightening. Rachel just notices the way his ears seem to twitch at her offer and raises an eyebrow at that. Danny has always been able to wiggle his ears, some people just can (Rachel isn’t one of them) but never has she seen them twitch of their own accord like that.

“Yes,” Danny says and shifts in his seat, feet scuffing lightly on the rug. “Want to see Grace and the piano.”

“Alright,” Rachel says with a smile as she leans down to get her phone out of her bag. She finds the video clip and scoots closer to Danny so he can see.

He gasps softly as Grace comes onto the screen when Rachel hits play, bowing before the audience before taking her seat at the fine old baby grand on the stage. When she starts to play though, Danny goes still aside from his fingers tugging lightly at his earlobe.

“Oh,” Danny says and makes a bizarre sound in his throat a lot like a soft whine. “Oh, oh. So pretty.”

“Her teacher says she’s the best in his class,” Rachel tells him, smiling with pride. They’d all had their doubts at first, but Grace has stuck it out and she isn’t tone deaf at all like they’d initially feared. She was a slow starter and had slacked at her practicing, but after Danny disappeared, she’d thrown herself into it headlong and become utterly committed to learning to play. It’s paid off and Rachel knows, though she won’t say it to Danny, that one reason Grace has pushed herself with it the way she has is because Danny had encouraged her so much.

 _One day, you will play Carnegie Hall, Monkey and I’ll be sitting right there in the front row proud as a peacock. I’ll tell everyone, “That’s my daughter there, that’s her. Isn’t she amazing?”_ Rachel remembers him telling Grace when she’d wanted to quit after one lesson, disappointed that she hadn’t turned into a virtuoso through the course of learning scales. Apparently it had stuck and once she buckled down, they all realized—Grace included—that she actually did have an ear for it and a good one at that. She may never actually be top-of-the-heap good enough to play Carnegie Hall, but then again she may be. She’d even spent the evening of her tenth birthday party—the last real party she’d had or wanted to have, for that matter—locked in the music room practicing her lessons.

 _So Danno can see how good I’ve gotten,_ was her answer when Rachel asked why she was ignoring her friends in favor of that. Over time Rachel has realized that wasn’t the whole answer either, but Grace probably hadn’t known that then. Part of the reason had been because when she was lost in her music, she found solace and quiet; much like she does with all of her pets, books and other assorted, decidedly unsocial activities.

“What… What song?” Danny asks and lightly touches the phone’s screen.

“It’s Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata”, an advanced piece her instructor says, but he also assured me she was ready for it and she was,” Rachel says with a smile. “She’s absolutely brilliant, isn’t she?”

“Moonlight,” Danny says with a strange, amused little smile as he tilts his head and watches Grace.

“Yes, do you remember it?” Rachel asks him. It was one of the few classical pieces Danny had always liked.

“Yeah,” Danny says and tilts his head the other way. “I know it. Well.”

She nods, but doesn’t say anything so he can watch in silence for the rest of the piece; content to let Danny enjoy watching his daughter play piano. He makes a soft, huffing sound a minute later and Rachel glances over at him to see tears streaking his thin cheeks.

“So pretty,” Danny says. He’s not even looking at her; he just raises his hand and touches the phone’s screen again.

Rachel doesn’t know if he’s talking about Grace, the piece of music or something else altogether, but it doesn’t matter. She can see the heartbreak and joy in his eyes and she loops an arm around his shoulders, hugging him close. When Steve gets up from the chair to sit on Danny’s other side, Rachel smiles over at him, this time not as strained and he returns it as he takes one of Danny’s hands in his own.

As the crowd roars with applause and Grace rises from the bench to give them a big smile, she glances at Danny again. He’s smiling now, too, chest puffed out and looking as proud as he once proclaimed he would be.

“Play it again, Rach,” Steve says softly when it ends and Danny cuts his eyes up to give her a hopeful look.

“Of course,” she says, happy to comply if for no other reason than to see Danny smile that way again because that, too, is a glorious thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~

By the time Rachel is ready to leave, night has fallen completely and she’s exhausted, but in some ways she feels better, too. Steve walks her to her car and she stops beside the driver’s side door to look at him in the light spilling off the porch onto the lawn.

“Will he be alright?” she asks.

Steve looks down at his feet and then back at her with a nod, his jaw tight; determined. “He will be, we have to believe that,” he says.

“I know that, I do, it’s just that… What happened to him, do you know anything at all?” she says.

With a heavy sigh, Steve shakes his head. “He won’t tell me anything. I think he knows, too, but tonight I asked again and he said it was dangerous and that… that it wasn’t for me.”

“What does that mean?” Rachel asks and then her eyes widen. “You can’t possibly think he means to go after those… _monsters_ … that hurt him. In his condition? No, Steven.”

“I don’t know, I really don’t and he’s not helpful at all,” Steve says and sips from the beer in his hand. “I can’t make him talk about it and he’s… I think he needs to see somebody. Danny’s not really… you know.”

“Yes, I did notice that,” Rachel says. “It’s to be expected, however, but I agree with you; he needs to see a professional.”

“I’m going to look for someone starting tomorrow,” Steve says. “I kept hoping he’d snap of it on his own, but I don’t really think that’s going to happen.”

“Mmm… No, I don’t believe so. I’m no psychologist, but after all he’s been through we can’t well expect him to just come out of it, can we?” she asks.

“I guess not,” Steve says. “I just didn’t want to have to put him through therapy on top of everything else.”

“Fair enough, I suppose, but he could probably benefit from it, so it’s not a bad thing,” Rachel says. “It may encourage him to open up about what was done to him all those years.”

“It may,” Steve says, but he doesn’t sound like he really believes it. Rachel’s no fool and she knows Steve well enough to know he puts little to no stock in psychotherapy. 

“Has he at least seen a medical doctor?” she asks gently, careful to keep any tone of accusation, real or imagined, out of her voice.

“Max checked him out,” Steve says. “He says Danny’s fine, underweight, but he’s perfectly healthy in every other regard. He says that it’s amazing and very lucky.”

“What does he say about Danny’s eyes then?” Rachel asks because that’s something she can’t _not_ ask. 

“He says that it’s something called heterochromia and that for the colors to be so vastly different then they had to’ve always been that way,” Steve says, watching Rachel closely now.

“Well, they weren’t,” she says. “I’m absolutely certain of it; I’ve seen pictures of him spanning the whole course of his life and I was married to him, his eyes were _blue_ and only blue. You ought to’ve known that as well.”

“Max said he may’ve worn contacts,” Steve said. “I wasn’t sure, but thought it was a possibility.”

“Max is wrong,” Rachel assures him and Steve nods, he believes it, too.

Rachel opens her door at long last and gets inside the car, but before she pulls the door closed, she says, “I want him to get better more than anything in the world so he can see his daughter.”

Steve nods and says, “I know you do, but he needs time. He’s not ready to see her yet. He wants to… but…”

“He’s afraid to?” Rachel asks and Steve nods again. She doesn’t know if letting Danny see Grace is a good idea anyway given the way he is and that scary _something_ she’d seen in his eyes earlier after she’d slapped Steve. She doesn’t want Grace to be on the receiving end of that look, but, oh, she has to tell her; Grace will be devastated (not to mention _furious_ ) if they keep this from her. She’ll just have to explain it to her and hope she listens to what Rachel has to say when she tries.

“He was my best friend,” she says softly. It would be abrupt if it hadn’t been swirling around in her mind from the second she saw Danny and how changed he is now. “We have to make this right.” Her voice shakes and she stops talking to clear her throat. “We need him back with us.”

“He was mine, too,” Steve says and drains the rest of his beer. “He still is, but I know what you mean. I think he wants to be normal again, too.”

“Then we’ll just have to see to it that he is, won’t we?” Rachel says with a smile. “If we stick together, we can show him the way back, I’m confident of that.”

“Me, too,” Steve says and gives her a quick smile before taking a step back so she can close her door.

“Goodnight, Steven,” Rachel says and then that’s it, it really is time to be going. She hadn’t meant to sit outside and talk for so long anyway. A glance up at the house shows her Danny’s silhouette pacing back and forth in front of the living room windows.

Steve waves her off and turns to head back to the house and she backs away, mind awhirl with all of the evening’s events and shocks. When she gets home, Grace is in the music room as usual and the dogs nearly knock her down when they rush to greet her. The smaller one, a corgi named Inigo, sits down to scratch vigorously behind one of his big ears and she just stares at him while their Cane Corso mix, Buttercup, coats Rachel’s left hand with slobbery licks of her soft tongue—her idea of a hearty welcome home.

“Dear God,” she says as she watches the little merle dog itching happily at himself. Rachel leans against the front door and blinks stupidly as down the hall, Grace plays a lullaby with the barest of light touches on the keys so that the little song whispers its way through the house.

After a moment, she takes a deep, calming breath and pushes away from the door. She needs to have a word with her daughter.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Danny paces for a while after Rachel leaves, head tilted in deep thought while Steve watches him from his place in the armchair. He’s tapping his fingers on the outsides of his thighs while in his head he replays the pretty song Grace played on the piano. He misses her so much it hurts, but he knows what he is and that he’s _wrong_ in his head now. He won’t make Grace see that, he doesn’t want her to look at him like he’s broken.

He’s only just sat back down when Steve gets out of his chair and picks up the empty beer bottle from the end table beside it. “Hey, Danno?” he asks and Danny looks over at him. “You want to ride with me to the store? I need to pick up something.”

“Beer,” Danny says with a nod.

“Yeah,” Steve says and looks away from him. “You want to come with me or not? You could stand to get outside some.”

“Okay,” Danny says and gets up to pad out of the house and to the truck behind Steve. 

He’s crazy, not stupid; he sees the way Steve drinks now. He smells it on him and in the sweat the beads on his skin in the mornings. He sees the way his hands shake first thing while he’s waiting for the coffee to finish brewing and notices how it stops after Steve gives in and takes the frosty blue bottle of Skyy down from the freezer and tilts it back. That all happens before he goes to work and sometimes he puts a bit more in his coffee, too, bottle tilted and _glug-glurgle_ , into the steaming mug it goes. He’s listened to him working out in the backyard afterward even though he still looks too shaky to be doing that. Danny has watched him stop doing sit ups on the beach so he can go throw up in the surf. That’s all before work and it’s also very bad.

The smell alone makes the wolf recoil back and Danny himself is worried. It’s not okay what Steve’s doing, but he can’t find the words to tell him that and now… now he doesn’t know what to do. So he just carries Steve to bed on the nights he doesn’t make it that far, his long legs dragging until Danny hefts him up so high he can barely see over his sleeping body. Then he curls up on the bed next to him, eyes bright and watchful in the darkness, to make sure Steve’s okay because he smells kinda sick when he drinks _that_ bad. He’s only done that a couple of times though, but Danny’s thought about that, too and he thinks Steve probably has been doing that for a good while now.

As Steve drives them to the store, Danny also thinks about how Steve shouldn’t be doing that either. It was only four beers… maybe five… he wasn’t paying that much attention because Rachel was there and she distracted him. Still, there is some cop left in Danny and he knows what Steve’s doing right now is illegal. Dangerous, too, but maybe not because Steve drinks a lot and four… maybe five… beers is not really _a lot_ when looked at that way.

He tugs at his ear and looks out the window as the scenery glides by in nighttime smears. Danny can see pretty good in the dark though and he can smell, too. All the stinks and nice smells mix together and have him tilting his head back to better sniff at the air streaming through the small crack in his window. He’s had a very stressful-sad-tiring day and the interesting smells are wonderfully distracting to Danny. He’s still got a quivery ball of nerves in his belly because Rachel knows he’s here now and that means she’ll tell Grace. That’s scary enough, sure, but what really worries him most is: What if The Boss is watching? What if he saw Rachel and followed her home? What if The Boss wouldn’t just hurt Steve—and he would, too, Danny remembers his threat with a little worried noise—but Rachel and Grace, too? That thought makes him growl and press his face closer to the window, like he half expects to see the man standing on the side of the road, waving-waiting. 

Danny wants to know what he’s _waiting_ for. He wants him to not ever come looking for him, but Danny knows that won’t happen. So what is it? What’s he going to do? Danny has been The Boss’s _dog_ —his lip curls at the thought-word—for a long time and because of that, he knows things. For one thing, he knows that The Boss thinks of him as a prize, as “the perfect acquisition” and he won’t let Danny go that easily. No, no he won’t. As every day goes by, Danny doesn’t feel better; doesn’t feel _safer_ , he feels more afraid and anxious. He’s in Steve’s house and when The Boss comes for him (finds him) he’ll still be there. That means Steve could get hurt and hurt bad or Danny will have to… to _show_ what he is because the wolf wants what the wolf wants and what the wolf wants is to kill The Boss. Then again, so does Danny, they’ve agreed upon that absolutely.

There is a sneaky, tiptoeing urge in Danny to run away from Steve. He’s thought it before, but unlike the wolf, he doesn’t want to bite Steve and make him come along. Danny thinks wherever he goes, The Boss will follow. If he did that and Steve was with him, Steve would get hurt and if Steve was _like_ Danny then The Boss would take him, too. He’d make Steve his other _dog_.

Danny fidgets in his seat with all the anxiety building in his stomach. A lot of things have gotten hazy in Danny’s mind over the past three years, but he still remembers falling asleep in the jungle that very first night and waking up man-shaped. He remembers stumbling towards where he _thought_ the road he’d parked the Camaro on was and how he’d been _so sore_ , sorer than he’d ever been in his life, but it had been a beautiful morning and he’d felt good for all of that. He’d also known that he was going to be okay, that he wouldn’t turn into some psycho beast when the moon was full; he was still Danny even when he was the wolf. Back then they’d been parts of the same whole instead of separated like they are now.

The thing Danny remembers most though is that he’d been able to see the road through the leaves and he’d been picking up his pace to get to the car. He hadn’t been thinking about how he was still naked—his nudity was of no consequence to him right then, he’d been so preoccupied with other things and his scattered clothing had been nothing but out of place blurs amidst all the green. He’d almost been there; had almost made it to the road and the Camaro. He could see the morning sun glinting off the silver body of the car. Oh, but then he’d heard a soft popping sound and then he’d felt a tiny little sting in the side of his neck. He’d turned to look and had seen nothing but the limbs of the trees and the sky beyond them as his eyes had rolled back in his head. Then he’d been falling… falling… falling… and he’d woken up in the cell. After that, Danny’s world became a much smaller, colder and scarier place.

 _Bad place, stop_ , the wolf says in his head, sliding under his skin and wanting to pace in agitation at the memories.

 _Can’t_ , Danny tells it and taps his temple.

 _Bad_ , the wolf murmurs and wants to gnash its teeth, but Danny grits his own to stop it from happening. _Out. Want out._

“No,” Danny says aloud and taps his temple again even though he wants to do it. He likes being that shape much better. He’s in the truck though and Steve is right beside him. “Can’t.”

 _Should let_ , the wolf insists.

“No,” Danny says a little more forcefully. It’s hard to do though because the wolf is right and at least when he’s wolf-shaped, the thoughts are harder to think. That and he just feels better, _righter_ , that way. He clamps his jaw tighter and wills the wolf back away as far as he can make it go nowadays. It’s hard work simply because he doesn’t really want to do it, but he knows he can’t let the wolf come right now. That would be _so bad_ and the man understands that where the wolf does not.

“No what?” Steve asks and Danny jerks his head up and looks over at him, startled. He also notices they’ve stopped, they’re at the store now and Danny blinks at the bright lights of the parking lot.

“Nothing,” Danny says after a second. “Just thinking, but it’s ‘kay.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks and there’s that worried look in his eyes again. “If you don’t want to be here, I can… I can take you back home and come back by myself.”

“Nope, fine,” Danny says. He’s not totally lying, but he still is a little bit. He’s got the wolf on a leash right now, albeit a leash made from dental floss. He still doesn’t think it’ll be okay though, not with The Boss still out there. “S’go, Steve, beer.”

He gestures at the store and then looks at it before looking back at Steve. Then he opens the truck door and gets out, waiting on Steve and looking at him to prove he’s fine.

Still, for a moment, Steve hesitates, watching Danny and worrying about him. It makes Danny feel ashamed. “You sure?” Steve asks again.

Danny huffs at him and shifts on his feet. “ _Yes_ , okay.”

Then to further prove it, he shuts his door, turns away from the truck and heads for the store on his own. He has no money and he looks like hell, but he is making a point. Danny still knows how to do that just fine. He even smiles a little when he hears Steve get out of the truck and slam his door then his footfalls hurrying across the parking lot to catch up with Danny.

“Point taken,” Steve says when he catches up a couple of seconds later. Danny glances over at him and is glad to see the little smile on his face.

“Good,” Danny says and jumps when the electric door swings open at their approach. He has a quick image of the door to his pen swinging open and closed, but he darts through and into the store and shakes his head to dispel it.

“Beer’s this way,” Steve says, taking the lead and heading off for the coolers at the back of the store. Danny trots along behind him, looking around and taking in all of the smells, people, food, perfumes—all _kinds_ of things to smell—and can’t help tilting his head back again to breathe it all in, only to be pulled up by a violent sneeze when the scents become overwhelming.

Steve gets his beer, the bottles in the twenty pack clinking lightly together and he goes to pay for them. The man behind the register calls Steve by name he sees him so much and they make small talk, Danny standing back a little and listening. The man sees him and keeps glancing his way, but Steve doesn’t introduce him and the cashier doesn’t ask. In fact, Steve makes a point of ignoring the cashier’s looks at Danny. What he notices most of all is how the man, a genuinely friendly fellow, calls after Steve, “I’ll see you in a couple days, Steve. You have a good one,” and the way Steve’s jaw tightens at that, beer bottles rattling more as he almost seems to hug the case to his chest. He does not, however, deign to respond. Danny makes a concerned sound in the back of his throat and tugs at his earlobe again as they go through the door. He nearly knocks into Steve he scoots through it so fast.

They make it across the parking lot and when they’re almost to the truck, a man on a cell phone comes towards them, heading for the store. He’s so wrapped up in his conversation that he doesn’t seem to notice them and he knocks into Danny kind of hard. When he does, Danny snarls at him, the reaction automatic and not soft at all.

“Watch it, man,” Steve says to the guy and gives Danny a look. He’s gone tense all over and is glaring at the man.

“Why don’t _you_ watch it?” the man asks, turning and walking backwards a couple of steps, phone still stuck to his head.

Steve narrows his eyes at the guy. It was his fault, not theirs, after all. “Come on, Danny,” is all he says though.

Steve’s already turned around, but Danny’s still watching Cell Phone Man and sees when he flips them off. He growls at him again, lips wrinkling back to show his teeth, even though he’s thinking, _Hey, no, fuck_ you _asshole_. It’s the words not coming again and the thoughts of the man getting tangled up in the reactions of the animal.

“And put a muzzle on your damned dog, too,” the Cell Phone Man calls out with a laugh that says “jerk” plainer than anything he could possibly actually _say_. He’s stopped now and looking at Danny with a meanly amused glint in his eyes. Danny looks like a skinny crazy person to him. He probably thinks Danny is a junkie or a loony just released from the mental home.

But he’s not though, he’s skinny and he’s crazy, but he’s not a junkie and he’s stronger than he looks. Meaner, too and when he hears “damned dog,” something rolls through Danny like a thunderclap, everything he hates about that word has just been slung at him from the lips of an asshole stranger. Easy as that, Danny _hates_ him with a violent ferocity that makes him shake all over just before he growls again and charges at the man.

 _Not a dog_ , the wolf is snarling in his head and Danny couldn’t possibly agree more.

The man hits the ground with a yell and his annoying little phone goes clattering away across the pavement when he does. Danny has him pinned by his shoulders and he’s snarling again, the sound deep and constant, rolling out of his throat as he leans closer to the man’s face. His lips are skinned back again and there’s spittle flecking them as he draws his head back just enough to lunge better. He means to bite, he’s going to tear his fucking throat out and eat his tongue because that is _no_. He is _not a dog_.

His teeth snap at nothing but air though and his palms hit hard concrete. It takes a moment for Danny to register the man—prey—is gone and when he does, he’s up off the ground again. He means to means give chase because he _will not_ let anyone ever call him—them—that again.

It’s Steve he sees though, blocking his path. He took the prey away and Danny growls at him, the sound less angry and more questioning. Then he tries to go around Steve when he sees the man-prey again, he’s behind Steve and hurrying towards the store like he thinks he can hide in there.

Steve sees what he’s trying to do though and stretches his arms out to try and block Danny’s path. “Stop it, Danny!” he yells. His voice cracks across the parking lot and echoes back to them. “Stop!”

Danny does stop, but he can’t find _any_ words at all and his skin is prickling the wolf is so close. _Out, out, out_ , it whisper-growls-paces and even worse than before, Danny wants to let it out, but while he can’t find his words, he still knows better. His fear of Steve seeing him like that and being afraid-disgusted is stronger than his desire to kill Cell Phone Man.

He paces back and forth in his agitation, keeping a close eye on Steve, who’s still got his arms held out at his sides. He wonders where Steve’s beer went and why he yanked the man out from under him. They’re human thoughts and that’s good, that’s really good. Danny’s pacing slows and slows until he’s stopped again and is looking right back at Steve who is slowly lowering his arms now.

“What the fuck was that?” Steve asks him finally. His voice is soft, calm now, but the shock is in his eyes, the confusion and a little bit of anger, the kind borne of sudden, unexpected fear.

Danny stares at him a beat longer and struggles to make the words come. When they do, all he manages to spit out is, “I am _not a dog_.”

It’s one of the few sentences he’s made where he refers to himself as “I” though and Steve notices that. It still doesn’t answer his question because what Danny just did was savage and animalistic… and very much like a dog. A mean as shit junkyard dog at that.

“I know you’re not, but what you just did… You attacked that guy,” Steve says. “You attacked him and tried to bite him.”

 _Tried to kill him_ , Danny thinks and the wolf agrees. The wolf still wants to kill the man, in fact. Danny doesn’t exactly disagree. Being poked at like that rankles mightily, even if it is a stranger in a store parking lot. They weren’t always like that, the wolf or the man, but hard treatment and abuse has made them vicious and a unpredictable in some ways.

He doesn’t say anything like that though and is trying to think of an answer—a lie—he can give Steve when he hears the far away sound of sirens. Danny snaps to attention at that and motions at Steve with both hands to _come on_. Cops have cages and they’ll put Danny in one if they catch him and maybe Steve, too, but probably not; he’s head of 5-0. That maybe counts for something now.

“Go, gotta. Cops,” he says and starts backing towards the truck again. He bumps into Steve’s beer where he sat it on the ground when he went to grab the man away from Danny. So, he turns around and picks that up, too, then starts walking again.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve doesn’t even try to argue with Danny and his freakishly good hearing these days—he knows better—so he goes along and gets in the truck after Danny. He cranks it and takes the east exit out of the parking lot, away from the sound of the sirens that are still faint, but audible now, to his own ears.

He takes side streets to head back towards the house and glances over at Danny sitting there with his beer in his lap. “I want answers, Danny, goddamnit,” he finally says.

Danny, stubborn as ever, just presses his lips tightly together and shakes his head no.

“Yes,” Steve says, snapping it out. It’s almost like déjà vu this particular non-conversation has happened so often.

Danny shakes his head again.

“That was not normal and you fucking know it,” Steve says. He was genuinely afraid of what Danny had seemed intent on doing and the way he’d _moved_. He’d been so fast and so agile that it had left him rooted to the spot until the guy had hit the ground.

Danny’s quiet for so long, Steve is nearly back to the house and starting to fume a tad. When he speaks again, the word drags slowly out of his mouth, “Sub-jec-tive.”

“What is?” Steve asks. His mind is whirling and his headache from earlier is coming back. Yes, fuck yes, he _has_ to call someone about Danny first thing tomorrow.

“Normal,” Danny says another minute or so later.

Steve turns his head to look at him and in the dim light from the dashboard, he’s surprised to see him smiling a little bit. It’s not exactly a _nice_ smile either; that _otherness_ has made all of the curves into sharp edges and he can see the faint glint of Danny’s teeth before he looks away again to watch the road.

When they get home, Steve puts his beer in the fridge and then stands there in front of the closed door, thinking. Danny’s standing behind him a little ways and watching him, he can feel his curious, almost alien, gaze on his back and it makes the skin there prickle when he thinks of Danny’s smile in the truck. With a huff of breath, Steve leaves the beer right where it is and opens the freezer to get the vodka down; beer is no longer an option for the evening, he needs something stronger.

He takes the bottle into the living room and sits on the end of the couch where he was earlier and unscrews the cap on the bottle for a long swallow. Light from the kitchen spills into the darkened living room and after a moment, Danny’s shadow stretches out across the rectangle of light and grows shorter as it comes closer to Steve. He finally looks up at Danny and Danny looks back at him. His gaze is mellower now, milder than it had been at the store and Steve sighs.

“Are you ever going to tell me _anything_?” he asks Danny. It galls him to hear the faint note of desperation in his voice, but he doesn’t know jack shit about what’s going on with Danny. Perhaps more importantly though is that he doesn’t know jack shit about what was done to Danny to make him the way he is now.

Danny sighs right back and looks down at his feet then moves to sit down beside Steve. “Maybe,” he says and taps his fingers on his knees, watching them move in the bad light. “Maybe. Maybe. Don’t know.”

“You—” _have to_. Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep from repeating himself again.

He can see well enough that he can’t miss the sadness in Danny’s eyes when he looks at him and shakes his head no yet again. He repositions himself so that he’s curled against Steve’s side and when he does, Steve wraps an arm around his narrow shoulders.

Danny rests his head against him and says, “Sorry.”

Steve doesn’t think he’s apologizing about the incident in the parking lot either, but he just says, “Okay, Danny, okay,” and kisses his temple before he takes another swallow from the bottle.

Steve sits there, drinking in the dark with Danny warm and solid beside him and thinks about how it’s not okay at all, none of it is aside from Danny being back with him again. He just wishes he knew what to do about it and how to fix it.

He raises his bottle for another drink and thinks that maybe he’ll figure something out, but this time, he’s not all too sure. Because this time is like nothing he’s ever seen before.


	7. Six

It’s the third and final day of Grace’s suspension from school for fighting a fight she didn’t even start. She’d hit the boy, sure, but he’d deserved it and her insistence about that hadn’t curbed her one iota of favor with the principal. She thought the punishment had been massively unfair and still does, but she’s also enjoyed the time away from school. She _loves_ learning, but going to school to do that; having to walk down the hallways with her peers, hearing their happy laughter and seeing the way some of them look at her has left Grace with no love for public education. The fact that sometimes the really mean kids like to call her Orphan Annie has made Grace _hate_ school.

At first, her friends had been sorry about her dad disappearing. They hadn’t known what to say and had no idea what that really meant; most them were only nine years old. They’d told her, _I’m sorry about your dad, Grace,_ like Danno was _dead_ , not just missing. Somewhere along the way, Grace had started to lose interest in her friends; they weren’t like her, not anymore.

The further she pulled into herself, the more she found _outside_ of herself. Not in the company of others, but in the magical, fantastic, sometimes scary or sad, worlds that books took her to. She found distraction and solace in the feel of her fingers pressing the cool keys of her piano. There was an even deeper kind of silence in the music she made—and the music she found on the radio. She realized that black wasn’t a bad color and it acted as a form of camouflage even in the brightest sunlight, even in Hawaii where people dressed in clothes the colors of flowers a lot of the time.

Grace learned how to disappear, even while staying right there and she thought that was a pretty neat trick. She could _see_ and _hear_ so many interesting things without most people ever realizing she was there. Grace told herself stories about the people she observed and sometimes, after she got older, Grace sometimes wondered if that was a little weird; if _she_ was a little weird. Then one day she’d heard the word “introvert” and looked it up in her desktop dictionary—a gift from her grandmother in England—and discovered that she wasn’t weird at all, just different. She wore that knowledge like an invisible badge, but sometimes she wished-wondered why other people didn’t understand that.

As she got older she also couldn’t help but wonder why the mean kids at school would call her a freak and then giggle to their friends just loud enough for her to hear. Because of that, more than anything else, Grace learned that if she hit them _really hard_ , like Chin, Kono and Uncle Steve taught her to do then they would _shut up_ and leave her alone. If they hit her back then Grace just hit them even harder on the next swing. That’s how it works: you have to hit back the hardest or they’ll just keep coming at you and Grace—wouldn’t—couldn’t—won’t let them do that.

She’s been told it’s wrong to fight so many times now she can’t keep up, but she doesn’t know how to explain it to her mom or anyone else. Grace cannot find the words she needs to say, _I have to do something._ So, she pretends to listen to what her mother tells her and she pretends to not notice the way her mom talks like she knows Grace is pretending to listen.

With a huffing sigh, Grace flops back on her bed and when Inigo props on the side of the bed with a whine, she sits up enough to scoop the little short-legged dog up so he can lie beside her. It’s not long after 1:00 PM and her mom has been gone from the house for approximately ten minutes. She’s thinking about the past—near and distant—so much because she’s fine tuning her plan. Or trying to, it’s not working well though because her mind keeps drifting. She’s a ball of nervous, excited-scared energy because she’s about to go beyond the bounds of “pushing it”; she’s about to do the one thing her mom has expressly forbid her to do. Sure, she says things like, “stop fighting, Grace” and she means it, but she’s never said it with her eyes wide and worried, her mouth tight at the corners and her fingers gripping Grace’s hand even as she yelled at her and tried to yank away.

Danno isn’t missing anymore, he’s just a few miles away at Uncle Steve’s place and she can’t believe they won’t let her see him. Her mom broke the news to her in the music room the same night she’d come back from Uncle Steve’s. Rachel told her in soft, hushed tones like that would soften the blow of them when she added, “You can’t see your father yet, sweetheart,” after Grace had gotten up, already headed for the door, telling her mom to _come on_.

She’d been behind Grace then and when she’d said that, Grace had stopped dead in her tracks. Her temper had spiked quicker than ever before. She’d felt tears pricking at her eyes as she’d whirled on her mother who, when Grace would think of it later, looked pale and kind of sad. “Why not?!” she’d screamed at her.

Rachel tried to explain, but Grace hadn’t given a crap about listening to anything she said. All she’d heard was that she was _still_ being denied the right to see her daddy and no one had that right. Still, they were doing that to her and she didn’t understand _why_. Rachel had told her that Danno was sick, that he needed to rest and get his strength back so he’d be tip-top when they did see one another again. Grace had heard her and she had heard the _gap_ in what Rachel was saying to her, too. She’d not been telling her _something_ that night; something that was maybe important for Grace to know. But Rachel thought she was too young or stupid or _something_ to understand whatever that big secret something-or-other was.

She finally yanked away from Rachel and stormed off to her room, too stubborn to run, but too mad to walk calmly either. The dogs and one of the cats had trotted along behind Grace, a chorus line of furry sympathizers. Grace had thought later that her pets made better friends than any humans she’d _ever_ met, even the Five-0 team and Kamekona and _especially_ Uncle Steve. She’d lain on her bed and ignored her mother’s soft knocks at her locked door and sobbed like she hadn’t done in years. She was a young girl, but Grace didn’t cry very much at all anymore. Not when she was awake anyway.

While she was still crying and feeling like she’d never stop—it had seemed highly likely at the time to Grace—she had sent Uncle Steve a text in all caps that had said: _U SUCK_. His reply of, _I’m sorry, please don’t be mad._ had been read, but ignored and she hasn’t spoken a word to him since then. He’s not tried to butter her up or coax her into forgiving him either, but that’s kind of one of the good things about Uncle Steve: He knows when to let her alone and think things through because maybe in a way he gets it. She’s really mad at him, but she can still grudgingly acknowledge that he has his good points just like her mom does. This stuff though… that’s not good points for either of them and Grace has decided to take matters into her own hands since the adults in her life are being complete boneheads about it.

Grace sits up and gets off the bed, pausing only to help Inigo down then she goes to her closet to start getting dressed. She’s sat around in her pajamas since the first day of her suspension despite her mother trying to make her get dressed. Grace ignored her and after the news she dropped in Grace’s lap the other night, Rachel has left it alone, partly out of guilt probably. It’s the same reason she hadn’t revoked Grace’s internet privileges or made her go to bed an hour earlier at night—typical punishments. She leaves Grace to sit with her books or the pets or at the piano and watches her with quiet concern that makes Grace’s skin prickle. And okay, maybe she feels a _little_ bad for shutting her mom out like she has over this, but Grace is a stubborn girl and she won’t give in on this front. She doesn’t think she _should_ , but she also thinks there are a lot of people out there who’d say she’s being willful and petulant, too. Grace does not like those hypothetical people one bit.

Because, see, there are things that Grace knows: She knows that the moon is not made of green cheese, despite how much she may’ve thought so when she was five. She knows that to make the color green, all she has to do is mix blue and yellow together. She knows that the French word for “fish” is _poisson_ and that the German word for “poison” is _gift_. She knows that she will never be able to play the piano the way Rachmaninov did, but she also knows she can try and if she works at it, she can maybe get _really close_. She knows that she knows more than people give her credit for just like she knows what she’s doing is going against what her mom and Uncle Steve both want. She knows that about _this_ , she doesn’t care and they can ground her until she’s fifty and she will never say she’s sorry. She knows that her Danno disappeared, but he never, ever _left_ her, despite what that awful Juliette Brigham says. She knows she is going to find her daddy because if she has to wait until they _say_ she can then she might actually explode or go crazy or do both. She knows she’s waited long enough and she’s dressed now, so it’s time to go.

“Come on, Inigo, Buttercup,” she calls as she walks out of her room. The dogs trot along behind her and Grace slips through the kitchen and out the door that leads into the garage. She takes her bike from its spot against the wall and goes back through the house with it because the garage door rattles and she doesn’t want to make anymore noise than she absolutely has to. It’s broad daylight out and there are people all over the place, but this is still a stealth mission and she’ll make the best of what she’s got, by God.

She slips through the front door, takes her bike down the steps and looks out at the quiet street, following her planned route to Steve’s in her head. She can do this, but first she goes back inside to get herself a bottle of water to be on the safe side. That done, she comes back out and doesn’t waste another second climbing onto her bicycle and taking off down the driveway as fast as she can pedal. The two dogs are right in behind her, racing the bike’s shadow and running to keep up with their girl. Somewhere up ahead, there’s Danno and Grace rides like hell to get back to him at last.

~*~*~*~*~* ~

She’s sweaty and tired by the time she gets to Steve’s place. It always seemed so much closer when someone was driving her, but riding her bike all the way has left Grace smelly and a little achy. Her calf muscles are trembling from exertion when she gets off her bicycle. Despite her desire to get inside to where Danno is, she stops to take a much needed swig of water before cupping one hand and pouring water into it for the dogs. Their poor tongues are hanging out so far Grace thinks they could almost touch the ground. She tells herself that after she sees Danno she’ll get them a nice, big mixing bowl full of water because they deserve it.

“Good dogs,” Grace tells them as she rises from her stooped position. A quick wipe of her wet, spitty hand on the rear of her jeans and she’s ready to go; all nervous energy and hope. She’s come this far, she can’t lose her nerve now. She can’t _believe_ how suddenly nervous she is about seeing Danno though. After all this time and her determination to do this, she’s about ready to bolt because her imagination keeps butting in. What if her mom didn’t want her to see him yet because he doesn’t remember her? What if it’s not that he’s forgotten her, but that he doesn’t _want_ to see her? Grace’s heart sinks at the mere possibility, but she decides if that’s the case then he can tell her so himself.

“Damnit,” she mutters under her breath, relishing the sound of the dirty word and how it bolsters her resolve. She’s learned that profanity has a near-magical effect that way. She’s old enough now to get why people say things like, _fuck it_ to make themselves go ahead with something they’re maybe scared about doing.

She tries that out as she starts across the lawn, opens her mouth and says, “Fuck it,” a little louder than she said _damnit_. It kinda-sorta-in a way works. A little bit at least. It’s enough to have her digging her key to Steve’s place out of her hip pocket as she mentally recites the code he gave her to disarm his alarm system. He almost never sets it though, not during the day, so maybe she won’t need it. It’s good to be ready just in case though, Danno taught her that: _Prepare for anything and everything, Gracie… and have a back-up plan in case the first one falls through._

She’s often wondered though why her dad didn’t have a plan or back-up plan for what happened to him; why he didn’t have some _idea_ at least about what he’d do if he ever… What? Disappeared? Fell off the face of the planet? Was abducted by aliens? Grace doesn’t know what happened—no one seems to, she has asked her mom that much. There have been times when she’s feeling angry at him that she wants to know _why_ he didn’t have a plan and _why_ he didn’t come back home. When she’s not angry at him, she reasons that maybe there really are some things people—even people as cautious as her dad—can’t plan for, no matter how much they try.

The dogs follow her onto the porch and sniff the boards with great interest as she makes her way to the door. They start to go with her, but another sniff or two has them whining softly and backing away. Grace looks over at them and frowns as they shift their weight from paw to paw—doggy fidgeting—looking uncertain and nervous. Buttercup growls low in the back of her throat—a worried sound—and Grace’s frown deepens.

“Why are you guys being weird?” she asks. Inigo just whines at her and Buttercup chuffs softly before nudging at Grace, like she’s trying to make her move away from the door. “Stop it,” Grace says and pushes the dog’s big head away from her leg. “It’s just Uncle Steve’s house, don’t be a goober.”

Then she slides the key in the lock and turns it. The click of the tumblers rolling around seems very loud in the still quietness of the day as she takes the knob in her hand. The dogs are snuffling around the doorframe and wagging their tails in a way that says they’re anxious about something; on guard and unsure. Grace frowns again, deeper that time, then pushes the door open enough she can slip through it. The dogs are being weird, she doesn’t want them barking and drawing too much attention. Outside, they scratch at the door and whine plaintively, but Grace tunes them out effortlessly. Her pulse is banging in her temples and she feels a little dizzy with nerves and her own anxiety. She’s not so caught up in her own worries though to notice the alarm isn’t beeping, waiting for her to input the disarm code. _Uncle Steve needs to be more careful_ , she thinks in a giddy, wild way as she moves further into the house.

The living room is empty and so is the kitchen and Grace’s frown grows even deeper. Danno is supposed to be here, but he’s not downstairs. With a huff and feeling a little bit like a burglar as she does so, Grace creeps upstairs to check there; to see if maybe Danno is napping in the bedroom. She remembers that Danno and Steve used to share that room and maybe they still do. 

When Grace checks the bedroom, there’s no one there, even though the covers are rumpled. She tries not to see the bottle of whiskey sitting between the side of the bed and the nightstand, its glass winking in the sunlight pouring through the curtains. Uncle Steve needs to be more careful _and_ he needs to stop drinking so much; he worries Grace a lot with that. Even so, it’s not that hard to ignore it right now because the disappointment she feels is threatening to crush her under its weight. Grace feels her chin tremble as a lump forms in her throat. With a shake of her head and a quick swipe of her face, she walks out of the bedroom at a near trot. She feels stupid and thinks maybe everyone has been _lying_ to her about Danno not being lost anymore. Why they would do that, she has no idea, but whatever their reasons may be, all they really are is _cruel_.

She chokes back a sob and shakes her head as she goes down the short hallway towards the stairs. Right before she steps onto the top riser, she hears a soft _thunk_ overhead and freezes. Grace tilts her head back and stares at the ceiling, straining her ears for any other noises. When she hears nothing, the lump in her throat seems to swell.

Still, she whispers when she says, “Danno? Is that you? Are you up there?”

She listens again, fists balled tightly at her sides and jaw clenched as she fights not to cry. She’s such an idiot; it was probably just the sound of the house settling. Convinced of that, she starts down the stairs again and is on the fourth riser from the top when there’s another sound, like the floor in the attic creaking under the weight of something heavy. She has no idea what Steve keeps up there, probably a lot of junk and she wonders if some of it is verging on falling over. But no, that was a footstep, she’d swear it. Her hope, a tiny ball of flame, flares inside of her. If Danno is in the attic for some crazy reason, he couldn’t have heard her moving around the house or talking.

There’s another creak from upstairs and Grace tips her head back, sniffing back tears and snot. She huffs once then yells out, “Danno?! Danno, are you up there?! It’s me, Grace! Can you hear me?! Please, Danno!”

She waits for what feels like forever, but there’s only more _nothing_. She’s feeling stupider and stupider with every second that passes. Even if it is Danno up there and not old junk of Steve’s shifting around under its own weight, he’s not coming down because he doesn’t want to see her. Grace doubles over on herself with a sob then and nearly falls down the stairs head-first at the abruptness of the movement. That’s why then, he’s not sick, he just doesn’t love her anymore and that’s _worse than anything_.

Grace straightens herself up and takes off down the stairs, not looking or paying attention; she doesn’t care if she falls now. She jumps down the last three steps, stumbles into the wall and then leans there, crying and feeling totally thrown away. Her hands are shaking, her back is shaking, she’s never hurt so bad in all her life. She shoves away from the wall with a low, angry sound of pain and stumbles towards the front door, half-blinded she’s crying so hard.

A soft sound behind her makes her slow, but she doesn’t stop. Then she hears, “Mon-key,” in a broken, rusted voice. That pulls her up short and she freezes. Grace doesn’t know that voice, but she knows that name even though she hasn’t heard it in years. No one but Danno ever called her that.

Grace turns around and there he is, right there on the stairs about halfway down. He’s looking at her with his head tilted and a little smile on his face even though he’s shuffling lightly on his feet. “Mon-key?” he asks that time.

Grace blinks at him, her bottom lip quivering as fresh tears pour down her face. He looks so _different_ ; skinny and with almost all his hair shaved off. His voice is funny sounding; wrong, not like the voice she knew before at all. He’s got scars on his arms so bad she can see them even from where she’s standing. But he’s right there on the stairs, right there and looking at her like he’s a little afraid, a little _ashamed_ (Grace doesn’t understand that) and a lot happy.

“Danno!” she cries. She doesn’t care that he talks funny now, that he’s skinny or that he has scars and almost no hair, he’s still her Danno and she’s missed him _so much_ every single day. “Danno!” she cries again as she turns and bolts back up the stairs.

When she launches herself at him, he catches her and holds her close like she weighs nothing as she bawls like she’s three years old with her first skinned knee all over again. “You’re here, you’re really here,” she sobs into the side of his neck. She soaks in his warmth and closeness as he rocks her from side to side, making low sounds of comfort in the back of his throat. “I thought you didn’t want to see me, that you hated me and were hiding.”

“No, not hiding,” Danny assures her. “Had to… switch.”

That’s weird enough to make her pause for a second. “Switch?” Grace chokes out.

“Not… important,” Danny says and smiles at her when she leans back to look into his face. “Happy.”

“Happy, yeah,” Grace says and then she starts laughing although she’s still crying. “ _Really_ happy.”

“So happy,” Danny says as his smile widens.

Grace smiles back at him and when he puts her down at last, she tilts her head, brows knitting together. “Danno?” she asks. He cocks his head in question. “What happened to your eyes?”

Danny blinks once and then looks away, casting his eyes towards the floor. “Leaked through,” he says. “Sorry. Don’t want to scare you. Am I?”

“Huh?” Grace says. Then Danny takes her hand and she forgets about it because it _doesn’t matter_. “It’s different, kinda weird, but it’s not _scary_. _You’re_ not scary. Why would you ever be scary?”

Danny grins and shrugs, but at first he still won’t look at her except from the corner of his eye. When he does meet her gaze head-on, there’s a hopeful look in his eyes. “Food?” Danny asks her as he shifts on his feet some more, eyebrows lifting in question.

As thin as he is, Grace has no doubt that he needs to eat plenty now, so she nods and tugs his hand. “Food,” she agrees with an answering grin as she leads him down the stairs.

Behind her, Danny sniffs lightly and when she looks over her shoulder at him, his eyes are shiny-wet looking. “It’s okay, Danno,” she tells him and squeezes his hand. “Now it’s okay.”

“Sure,” Danny says and sniffles again as he lets her lead him to the kitchen. “Sure.”

He doesn’t sound all that _sure_ to Grace because to her mind everything is better now. Danno’s back and she’s with him and they’re about to eat sandwiches together for the first time in _years_. She’ll just have to be sure enough for the both of them if Danno’s not convinced yet. In fact, the more she thinks about it, the more she’s certain everything is _wonderful_ now.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s almost seven o’clock when Steve pulls into his driveway. He’s exhausted and for a bonus, he’s infinitely pissed. The child pornography case they’re working has run into yet another wall and he doesn’t know how much more he can take. They have their man; they even have a solid idea of who two of his cohorts are, but there’s _nothing_ they can do. Normally, Steve could give a grudging nod of respect to a smart criminal—they’re so rare, after all—but not this sick freak.

He’s about one more roadblock in this investigation away from putting a bullet in the bastard himself. At least that’s how he feels. He’d almost not stopped Kono today when she drew back to punch the smug fucker. Jared Kitchener is his name and Steve sees it scrolling across the backs of his eyelids every time he closes his eyes lately. It’s been over a week and they seem to be getting _farther_ away from making any headway. If they end up having to drop the investigation due to lack of evidence Steve thinks they’re all going to implode.

On the way home, Steve made a much-needed pit-stop to get a bottle of the hard stuff—90 proof hard—he’s so angry about this. He’s been nipping at it for the last mile or two; he couldn’t wait until he was home. The burn of the liquor soothes his raging thoughts; makes it easier to sort and think. He started relaxing after the fifth or sixth sip, but he doesn’t know if that’s because of the booze or because he turned onto his street at the same time he was swallowing. He actually thinks it’s a combination of the two because coming home is the highlight of his day now. He gets to sit with Danny and enjoy his company; his silent, sometimes vaguely unsettling, company. Steve takes it though; he takes it and he relishes it.

He sees a little bit of the Danny he remembers everyday now and he knows he’s not imagining it. He’s still amazed at how well Danny’s sarcasm translates to non-verbal actions such as expressions and gestures. It makes him laugh with pure delight. Danny seems to get it, too and sometimes he laughs right along with Steve. Danny is still off and odd and so incredibly strange at other times though that Steve wonders if Danny will make it back even _most_ of the way. He’s decided he doesn’t care, there’s enough there for him to look at Danny and know he still loves him so much that sometimes it almost _hurts_.

His headlights spark off the dark metallic purple of Grace’s bicycle frame as he draws close to the house and Steve taps the brake in surprise, yanked right out of his thoughts. He sloshes whiskey on the leg of his pants and curses under his breath as he stares at the bike. There’s an icy feeling of worry beginning to claw its way up his spine when his phone rings. He doesn’t bother looking at the number, just picks it up, hits _accept_ and says, “Hey.”

 _“Oh, thank God,”_ Rachel says on the other end. _“I was held up at work and I’ve just gotten home and—“_ She cuts off, working to get herself under control. Steve knows what she’s going to say anyway.

“She’s here, Rachel,” Steve says as he kills the truck and opens the door.

 _“That’s what I was afraid of,”_ Rachel says around a shaking sigh. _“Steve… you don’t think he’d—I mean, he _wouldn’t_ ever… Before. But he’s so—Do you think he would—”_

“No,” Steve says automatically. The truth is he has no idea.

Before Danny disappeared, he’d have never in a billion years thought he’d do anything to hurt Grace. Steve hasn’t forgotten the first night with the chicken thigh or the other night with the man in the store parking lot though. Danny’s _unpredictable_ now and there seems to be a huge capacity for violence in him. There’s still no way he’d ever hurt Grace _intentionally_ , Steve absolutely believes that. Accidentally though, if he got upset or was startled or any number of things, really, then he can’t say. That’s why he’s half running up to the house with Rachel breathing anxiously in his ear.

 _“I’m coming over there,”_ she says. _“I feel awful for even thinking these things, but there was a_ reason _I didn’t want her to see him yet. Are we being unfair?_ ”

“I don’t know, Rachel,” Steve says as he bolts up the doorsteps. Then he stops so fast he sways in place. From the direction of the backyard, laughter floats to him on the breeze and he lets out a sigh as he reverses direction. “On second thought, I think maybe we are,” he says as he looks around the side of the house.

Danny is sitting on a blanket with a veritable feast of everything a girl Grace’s age can prepare to eat, which is a good bit, actually. He’s dressed in neat, clean clothes and Grace is laughing in a way he hasn’t heard her laugh in years. The dogs are behind and off to Grace’s right a little bit, watching it all with wary curiosity.

 _“What’s going on, Steven?”_ Rachel says.

Danny looks over his shoulder right at Steve and makes a “come on” motion with his hand. Grace hasn’t heard or noticed him, but she follows Danny’s gaze. For a moment she looks a little worried, but then she visually shrugs and her face splits into a grin.

“We’re having a picnic, I think,” Steve says.

Rachel’s startled laughter in his ear makes him grin as he walks over to Danny and Grace. _“Are we now?”_ she says. _“Am I invited by chance?”_

Danny tilts his head back to look at Steve as he reaches them and says, “Yeah, c’mon, Rachel. Food.”

“Yep, you sure are,” Steve says, wondering for the millionth time how the hell Danny does that.

 _“I’m en route now and should arrive shortly. Save me something tasty,”_ Rachel says.

“Okay,” Steve says and then ends the call.

“Hi,” Grace says. She looks a little uncertain, eyes darting from Danny to Steve then back again.

“Hi, yourself,” Steve says as he sits down on the blanket. His bedspread, he notices belatedly. 

“Um… Don’t be mad, okay? I couldn’t _not_ come; you weren’t being _fair_ ,” Grace says to him. She’s glaring already and Steve thinks that all is not quite forgiven yet. “He’s _my_ dad, not… you don’t get to… to… _dictate_ who gets to visit him or not.”

Danny’s looking at Steve curiously, eyebrows raised. “Dic-tate?” he asks.

“Shit,” Steve says. He cannot win with the Williams women here lately. He thought it that first night and he still thinks it: This is—was—a no-win situation. “Look, Gracie, me and your mom, we agreed.”

“Well, I don’t _care_ ,” Grace snaps at him. “That was… You guys were being assholes.”

Steve doesn’t even bother trying to correct her for the language. She learned half of the profanity she knows from him; the really creative stuff anyway. It had taken him way too long to find his self-edit button where kids were concerned. It wasn’t like he’d ever had any practice. By the time Danny had thrown his hands up in the air around the fourth incident of Steve slipping and saying something about “motherfucking jackasses” in front of Grace (rush hour traffic can be stressful to even seasoned soldiers), the damage had been done. Grace, to his amusement, had found the profanity wonderfully hilarious.

“I’m sorry, Gracie,” Steve says. He is and there’s nothing else he _can_ say to her. “And no, I’m not mad. I’d have done the same thing.”

Danny has been watching them and at first, he looked confused, but there’s understanding in his eyes now. He shakes his head and snorts harshly before pushing hard against Steve’s side. So hard he knocks him over, but not so hard he hurts him. “Stupid,” Danny says. Then he shakes his finger at him.

“I’m sorry, Danny,” Steve says as he pushes himself back up. He may as well get all the apologies out of the way while he’s got everyone gathered ‘round.

Danny watches him for a moment with his head cocked as he absently taps his temple. That _other_ Danny is watching him, too; the Danny that makes Steve nervous. Finally, Danny nods then leans in and licks the side of his face, from his jaw all the way to the corner of his eye.

“Forgiven,” Danny says as he pulls back.

Steve blinks at him and then laughs. He doesn’t know what else to do. Then he looks at Grace. She’s studying him with a shrewd look that is all Rachel and finally, she nods, too. “I forgive you, too,” Grace says. Then she taps her bottom lip. “I’ll forgive you _extra_ if you talk mom into not grounding me for a whole month this time.”

“I’ll do my best,” Steve says.

Grace beams at him and then gets up to move so she’s sitting next to Steve. She slings her arm over his shoulders and Danny leans into his other side. Steve, well, Steve just grins like an idiot and laughs when he realizes he’s still got Danny-spit on the side of his face. _So what?_ he thinks quite happily.

“We need to talk about who’s going to wash my bedspread though,” Steve says. 

“You,” Danny says very matter-of-factly.

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, but he figures that’s right anyway since he’s the neatkin. Then Grace says, “I’ll throw it in the washer for you before I go home. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve says.

They sit in silent, companionable silence until Rachel arrives. After scolding Grace, despite her protestations, things go pretty smoothly. Steve only drinks two beers, which is perfectly socially acceptable (he almost never exceeds four, but there’ve been slip-ups). No one says anything to him about the five or six trips he makes inside with the excuse of doing some little something-or-other. Cold vodka is harder to smell that warm vodka, but Steve doesn’t pretend they don’t all know anyway. The worried look Rachel gives him tells the tale fine, but Danny sniffing the air and frowning tells it even better. Grace is too distracted to notice it tonight, which is good. It’s the worst when he sees that sad look in her eyes directed at him. Best of all, for a couple of hours, Steve doesn’t think about Jared Kitchener at all.

Danny doesn’t say much all evening, but that’s nothing new and Grace doesn’t seem to care. He can still make her laugh, his quietness has had no impact on that whatsoever. By the time Rachel ushers her and the dogs into the car for home, she looks more like the happy kid Steve remembers. As soon as the glow of their headlights has faded, Steve gets his whiskey and the file he brought home with him out of the truck. He tucks the file under his arm and holds the bottle by the neck while he moves Grace’s bicycle onto the porch until he can get it to her tomorrow. The weather report he heard on the radio said there’s a storm blowing in tonight and he doesn’t want it to get wet.

Then he uncaps the whiskey, takes a slug and goes inside.

~*~*~*~*~*~

An hour and a half later, Steve shoves the file away then scrubs a hand over his face. He’s been over every scrap of evidence they’ve gathered, he’s pored over the photographs they have and he’s read the transcripts of every interview they’ve conducted until he has parts of them memorized. And all for _nothing._ He can feel Kitchener slipping from their grasp more each day and there’s not a damned thing he can do about it.

His good mood from earlier is ruined and he’s already drunk thanks to the 90 proof miracle he’s been drinking from steadily since he sat down at the kitchen table. He left Danny in the living room watching one of the videos he has of an early recital of Grace’s. There’s nothing but silence and darkness from in there now and he figures Danny is probably just sitting on the couch. He’s gotten remarkably _still_ these days, so still that sometimes Steve half forgets he’s even there. Danny watches _everything_ though, that’s one thing that’s never still; his eyes. 

Steve gets up from the kitchen chair, takes a wobbly side step or two before he rights his balance and then he picks up his bottle. He doesn’t know where the cap has gone and he doesn’t care; he’s pretty sure he won’t need it. He’s also aware that he’s going to pay for this slip with his drinking dearly, but damnit, he _needed_ it. Feeling and thinking that way never stops Steve from being disgusted with himself on a fundamental level, but he’s mostly learned to accept it. Which, truth be known, is a really fucking bad thing.

He goes into the living room and sits down on the end of the sofa. Just as he thought, Danny is sitting there still as a statue, but wide awake and alert as ever. When Steve sits, he turns his head to look at him. After a second, his brows beetle together and he cocks his head at a familiar angle as he studies Steve. It’s then that Steve looks away. Danny has always been good at reading him; better than anyone and that hasn’t changed. If anything, Danny reads him _better_ now. He doesn’t say or do as much anymore, but Steve can still see it in his eyes, in his expressions. He knows it by the way Danny will sit close to him and hold his hand. It’s silent comfort now, but he still offers it same as ever.

After a couple of minutes, Danny moves over to sit beside him and Steve relaxes even more at the familiar warmth of his body. Danny leans into him and turns his head to nose the side of Steve’s neck gently. When he sits back, he lays his hand over Steve’s and says, “Talk. Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Steve asks.

Danny stares at him until Steve meets his gaze and when he does, Danny rolls his eyes. “What’s wrong. You’re mad. Very… _worried_.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He raises the bottle for a swallow. Danny waits patiently, but wraps his fingers around Steve’s and Steve squeezes them gently.

Danny isn’t a cop anymore and talking about this case with him is against department regulations, especially giving him _details_. Yet, after another swallow of whiskey, Steve thinks: If he can’t talk to Danny, if he can’t tell him these things, then who can he talk to? He’d never wanted someone to talk to—he hadn’t required it—but then he met Danny and he got it anyway. After awhile, he came to count on it and appreciate it. It took him a long time to realize it, too long maybe for most people, but Steve came into this thing of theirs with a lot of extra baggage. Still, he came to understand something very fundamental about Danny, about their relationship: He needs him.

“Tell,” Danny repeats then he leans in and noses Steve again.

“You’re not a cop anymore, Danny, I don’t think I should,” Steve says. Despite what he thinks, he still _tries_ to follow some rules. The military taught him that part very well; the part where you don’t talk about things, about missions. These days, _missions_ are _cases_ and they aren’t meant to be discussed with civilians. It’s against protocol.

Danny’s indignant snort is loud in the quiet living room and he rocks against Steve. When Steve looks at him, Danny is giving him an irritated look. It’s just _Danny_ giving him that look though and that’s good. “Always a cop,” he says. He points at himself then taps his temple. “ _Always_.”

Steve contemplates that for a moment and then he nods. It’s true. Danny’s one of those people, take the badge and gun away, but they’re still a cop. Even someone that’s damaged like Danny is, there’s that underlying edge to them. Some people are made to wear blue, that’s what Danny told him one night after a few too many fruity drinks with umbrellas. Danny is one of those people.

“Okay,” he says and then stops. He licks his lips and thinks how to tell this from the beginning, but he has no idea. So, he just says, “There’s this _perverted sicko_ by the name of Jared Kitchener. He hurts kids, Danny, little girls and boys; he does awful shit to them and we know he’s our guy, but there’s still not a fucking thing we can do about it. I’m losing my damned mind here because this… this fucking _monster_ is going to get away with what he’s doing since we can’t prove anything concrete. We can’t even get a _warrant_ to search his house. I think he’s got a judge in his pocket, I swear it, but I can’t even find out _who_ it might be.”

He shakes his head and coughs out a bitter, angry laugh. Then he takes another slug of whiskey. Fortification and all that. He turns his head and looks right at Danny, who’s watching him back, frowning. There’s an angry glint in his eyes, but he’s quiet; listening, waiting for more.

Smiling, the expression sharp edged with anger, Steve looks into Danny’s eyes and tells him true, “If I could get away with it, I’d kill the bastard myself. At least then he couldn’t hurt anymore kids.”

Danny nods and Steve turns away, wondering if he shouldn’t have said that out loud. He hears a low, dangerous growl come from Danny and his grip on Steve’s hand is tighter than before. Steve isn’t used to the growling at all, he doesn’t know where it comes from or when Danny started doing it ( _except_ there is _something_ in his memory floundering around) but it tells him enough. It tells him he didn’t overstep by saying what he did. 

“Fuck Jared Kitchener, do you hear me? Fuck that perverted fucking freak,” Steve spits and then, thanks to anger and alcohol, he kicks the coffee table so hard it nearly slams into the television.

He lapses into silence after that, chest heaving and muscles tense as he broods about the truly unjust thing happening with this case. Danny sits beside him, watching him drink himself into a stupor, offering the comfort Steve has often missed these last few years. Steve listens to him breathe, thinking about how often he would imagine exactly something like this on nights he felt his heart was surely going to break from the loneliness eating away at him.

Steve sets the bottle aside when there’s about two inches of dark amber left and drops his head back to stare blearily at the ceiling. “I want this case to be over,” Steve says, words fuzzy and slurred. “I haven’t… there’s hasn’t been a case that bothers me like this one since…” Steve frowns, tries to scrub at his face, smacks himself instead and just lets his hand drop with a muttered curse. “Since yours,” he finishes almost as an afterthought.

“Sorry,” Danny says and lays his head against Steve’s arm.

“I know and it’s not your fault, but I… _you_ … You’re here now and it’s your turn to _tell me_ , Danny,” Steve says. He reaches to touch him and flails at nothing but air although he knows Danny is _right there_. His coordination isn’t so hot right now. That makes him snort drunken laughter, but then he grumbles to himself. “Broken record, that’s me. I mean it though. You gotta.”

Danny sighs heavily and says, “No,” but he takes Steve’s waving hand and lays in on his head for him.

Steve strokes clumsily over his short hair for a couple of minutes, but he doesn’t speak. After another minute or so, his hand stills and he begins to snore softly. Soon he’s sucking in great, whuffling gusts of air the way only those who are truly soused can.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Danny sits with Steve after he passes out, thinking and plotting while Steve’s hand rests on the side of his face. He consults with the wolf and pays attention to what it suggests in its wordless way. Danny has learned to listen to the wolf and its instincts; it is seldom wrong and therefore rarely leads him astray. When they still worked together, not split as they often are now, they were a great team.

Danny feels them slide in tandem a few times while he thinks. It’s familiar and Danny feels knitted together much better when that happens. Those moments are becoming a bit more regular and given time, Danny (and the wolf) thinks they’ll be whole again. Then something will happen and they’ll pull apart; the wolf wanting to go left when Danny wants to go right, so to speak. The man still knows when the animal side of his nature is right and when the wolf pushes, Danny concedes its point more often than not. The wolf is what kept him alive all the years he was with the Boss.

Still, the man thinks a man’s thoughts and there is a good bit of humanity left in Danny. He understands that what he’s considering is wrong in several ways, but he can’t stop thinking about this Kitchener man who hurts children and who has upset Steve so badly. Danny is thinking about his Gracie ( _she’s so big now!_ ) and how she could’ve been hurt by this man if one little thing had gone badly for her. He’s thinking about how maybe 5-0 really won’t be able to prove enough to get him off the streets and if they can’t, Kitchener will keep hurting little people. Danny thinks that’s far more wrong than what he wants to do. He wants to _fix it_ ; to fix this very bad man forever so he can’t do it anymore. 

The wolf doesn’t understand it the same way the man does, but it understands that puppies are meant to be protected. That way they grow up strong and healthy, not hurt and damaged or worse—if they aren’t cared for, sometimes they never grow up. Grace is their puppy and Steve is their mate. Rachel, Chin and Kono are their pack. It’s their _duty_ to protect all of them, but especially their puppy and their mate. If they don’t do that then they’re not any good to them and the wolf doesn’t like that. A wolf that cannot take care of its pup or mate deserves to be run out of the pack altogether.

Something else the wolf understands is that a sick animal like Kitchener is fair game and should be culled because it preserves the balance of nature. Any animal that hurts the pack or proves to be a threat must also be eliminated before any such thing can happen. The wolf is stronger than this Kitchener animal and he’s made Steve very unhappy, which is like hurting him in a way. In turn, Kitchener has made the wolf and Danny even angrier. For the sick animal Kitchener, that was a very unwise thing for him to do.

When they finally come to a decision, their thoughts echo the same thing: _Hunt_.

Mind made up, Danny takes Steve’s hand away from his face and stands. Looking down at Steve, he thinks he looks tired and sad. He knows he can’t leave him on the couch like this, he never can; to do so wouldn’t feel right. Besides, he doesn’t want Steve to be uncomfortable and sitting up with his head tipped back at such an angle is very much that. 

Steve’s so drunk that he barely stirs at the disturbance when Danny carefully lifts his long body up and holds him to his chest. He’s heavy, but the weight isn’t much for Danny to handle; he can pick up far more than anyone would ever think. That wasn’t always true, but the wolf made it so and the longer they’ve been together, the stronger Danny has gotten. 

He takes Steve upstairs and lays him down on his side of the bed. He takes the time to unlace his boots and set them aside. Then he stands back and nods. “Better,” Danny says to himself. Steve doesn’t look so tired and sad in the bed like he should be; not the way he did on the couch anyway. He turns to go, but stops and goes back to give Steve a quick kiss. His breath smells like whiskey fumes and his lips taste faintly of it. Danny is getting used to it.

Satisfied at last, Danny goes downstairs and makes a beeline for the kitchen—for the file Steve left on the table, specifically. There will be an address in that file and Danny needs it. When he finds it, he memorizes it and hope-hope-hopes he doesn’t get lost since his memory of where things are isn’t as good now. He’s ready to go though, so he goes back through the living room and out the front door.

At the end of the driveway, Danny stops and scents the air. He smells rain, far off, but on its way. The air is starting to prickle with static electricity, faint like the rain is far, but building up with every stir of the breeze. The sky overhead is studded with dark, bloated clouds that are waiting for the others out over the ocean to catch up so they can all spit rain together. Stars still glitter in the dark, dark blue sky for now though and the moon is there as well, looking down at Danny. It’s getting fatter and brighter everyday. Danny knows what that means, but he can’t change it—doesn’t want to—but he can’t think about it now either. He has work to do, so he jumps into the ditch on the right side of the driveway and lopes off into the darkness.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s late when Danny finds Jared Kitchener’s house. He got lost a couple of times and almost got caught peering into a bedroom window of what he thought was the right house. The actual house sits way back from the road, behind a tall gate that wasn’t in any of the pictures—they must’ve been taken from the lawn. Wandering the almost-familiar streets has been a nervous-making experience for Danny and he’s agitated now, out of breath although he’s not tired. The black wrought iron gate seems to mock him; it’s one more obstacle in his way. The man is still impatient as ever, but the wolf shushes him; keeps him from grabbing the heavy gate and rattling it like chains.

“Around,” Danny says to himself and taps his temple in thanks. The understanding makes him calm. He’s steady again. He knows what he has to do now. “Stupid,” he mutters as he follows the side of the high stone block fence around to the back. It gleams like bone in the faint moonlight and Danny finds safety (cover) in the thick shadow it throws.

Far off, thunder at last rolls through the sky and soon it will crush the moon with its noise. Danny knows that’s a good thing because sometimes they scream. He remembers that and it makes him shudder. He dreams about it, too and that may be even worse. It’s _realer_ then. Jared Kitchener is not for eating, Danny and the wolf both know that. They aren’t starving anymore, they have choices and _freedom_ ; they don’t have to hurt sad-scared innocent people anymore so that they can live. They can kill though, if they _want_ to, they have teeth and claws made for such a thing.

It’s not a mindless drive to do it though, no. Danny remembers the term “premeditated murder” very well. That’s one of those bad things he thought about back at the house, but in many ways he doesn’t care. He’s still sure that what he and the wolf are doing is a mostly good thing. Because it gets rid of a bad man and it’s a _gift_ for Steve.

The rear of the estate is darker and after pacing along the fence line for a few minutes, Danny backs up to get a running start. His shoes scrabble at the stone as he uses his momentum to help propel him upward and when he grabs the rough stone at the top, he chuffs with pleasure. Getting down is much easier and he drops to the dewy grass with hardly a sound.

The back lawn is mostly dark, save a small path of flagstones lit by solar powered torches, some of which have gone out. There is a pretty pool with a painted bottom with a few evenly spaced lights illuminating it from the bottom, too, but they’re faint as well. The less light, the easier it will be for him to move around the yard to the house, so it is a point in his favor.

The backyard smells of the heavily perfumed tropical flowers blooming in the carefully manicured beds on the landscaped lawn that make Danny feel like he’s going to sneeze. He listens to the sleepy buzz-hum of bees drowsing in a hive nearby and twitches his nose involuntarily. Snorting softly to blow some of the flower-smell out of his nostrils, Danny stands from his crouched position and hopes the urge will pass.

His sense of smell finally adjusts and when he’s sure it’s okay, he slips back into the heaviest part of the fence’s shadow to begin undressing. The wolf is anxious beneath his skin, ready to roam and Danny shushes it with a sharp tap to his temple. His hands are shaking with nerves and the wolf’s excitement that is bleeding over into him. They’re melting together slowly, partners in this hunt and that’s fine, that’s good. Danny folds his boxers and lays them on top of his pants then stands there, staring at the house. His eyes shine faintly in the bad light, tiny blue flames winking in and out of existence with every blink.

He lets out a soft breath that rumbles with a growl then closes his eyes as he bows his back. He calls it and the wolf comes eagerly. There’s nothing he can do about the noise the change brings, but he can bite back the soft cry-whines of pain as his body twists itself and grows into the wolf-shape. He’s gotten used to the pain anyway, although he remembers how he screamed the first few times. The very first time, the moon yanked it from him and that hurt even worse than calling the wolf out from beneath his skin. He welcomes it now though, even if it does feel like his very bones are _ripping_ under the onslaught.

When it’s over, Danny rises and shakes himself off. His perspective has changed again and he gives himself a moment to adjust to his new height. The breeze ruffles his fur and he tilts his head back to pant up at the sky. He remembers his first night of freedom and how good the wind felt in his coat. The recollection makes him shiver once all over before he steps forward. He’s ready now and this is important.

The backyard has trees and they give him even more darkness to slip through. He keeps his eyes on the house, at the lights burning in a few of the downstairs windows and feels his lips pull back in a silent snarl. He hates the Kitchener animal, not as much as he hates the Boss, but still a lot. He hates what he does, the kind of person he is, how he’s upset Steve. He hates that the children he hurt will live with that pain the rest of their lives—the ones that didn’t wash up on a beach somewhere anyway. He hates the _idea_ that any of the children this man hurt could’ve been his puppy—his _daughter_ ; that she could’ve been one of those tiny bodies on a beach. Over the years, Danny has learned to use his hate; make into a tool and not something that eats away at him slowly. He doesn’t like feeling it so much now, but if he has to—as he was made to—then he can make the most of it. He’s always been resourceful.

At the front door, Danny ponders the idea of just hitting it until it falls down. That’s very noisy though, even if it would probably be relatively quick work. That and this is a _hunt_ , not an ambush. The wolf can wait, the wolf thinks their prey should come to them. Danny agrees after a moment’s consideration. It’s a smaller expenditure of energy and it’s kind of fun, the anticipation of the kill and working towards it together. There’s no chasing this way, no noisiness to draw suspicion and that means less danger for Danny in the long run. He is still perfectly aware that getting caught here, in either form, would mean another cage for an even longer time. A prison cage when the moon comes would be a terrible thing and while this may be a gift for Steve, he still knows Steve wouldn’t like it if he knew Danny was the one who gave it to him.

Danny thinks of a way to get the Kitchener animal to come to him, to lure the prey into the inescapable trap. It takes him a moment, but then he thinks, _Trick-or-treat._ After that, he remembers Gracie’s nervous-smelling dogs today. The thoughts come together in an interesting mental picture, one that makes him wag his tail with pleasure.

Danny crouches low, beneath the peephole and then lifts his hand to scratch lightly at the door. He whines softly, keeping his big, rough wolf-voice small sounding. He waits a moment and does it again, scrabbling at the door more insistently as he raises his voice a little more, sounding lost and scared. Sounding like a puppy—close enough to one anyway, at least through the heavy wooden door. 

It takes a few moments of that, but finally there is a shadow cast on the lawn as someone walks past the window. He hears a male voice say, “What the hell?” It eggs him on and he yaps pitifully, using both hands to scratch at the wood. He scratches a little too hard and hard maple rolls away under his claws, leaving deep gouges. That’s okay though, this is what he wanted; the prey is coming to him at last.

A sound on the other side of the door makes Danny prick his ears up higher and he whines low and sad in the back of his throat. There is the tumble of a lock being opened and he tenses his muscles. He sees the shiny brass knob turn and a crack begins to show in the door as it’s pulled open. Danny rises to greet the person on the other side.

The face staring at him as the door opens all the way is the same face from the pictures Danny looked at. He growls now as the Kitchener animal stares up at him, the sound rolling in the back of his throat, soft at first until he opens his mouth to show his teeth. It crests into a vicious snarl then and the Kitchener animal takes a scared step backwards.

“What the _hell_?” he says again, wheezing it now as he stumbles back another three steps.

Danny closes the gap, claws ticking on the tile entryway as his hackles rise along his back and neck. “Help! Someone help!” Kitchener screams, at last finding his voice. Danny snaps his teeth and swipes out a hand, tearing through his shirt and skin. Blood soaks through almost immediately and when Kitchener screams that time, it is wordless.

He turns to run then, but Danny was waiting for that. It’s normal. People get scared, even awful-bad people like this human. Running is part of the hunt, too, so when Kitchener runs, Danny follows. He lets Kitchener get as far as the spacious living room then he puts on a bit more speed—he’s tired of playing—and slams into Kitchener. The blow sends the man sprawling across the floor with a pained, frightened cry as he slides into an end table, knocking it over. The lamp shatters on the floor, the bulb going out with a fizzle of sparks. The room smells of ozone and blood and fear.

Kitchener is screaming and trying to get up, but that won’t happen. The hunt was a small one and it is over now. Danny snarls again and opens his powerful jaws as he goes in for the kill. His mouth closes around the Kitchener animal’s throat and his scream dies into a wet burble as his blood gushes hot and salty across Danny’s tongue. He’s tears his muzzle away, taking most of the meat from Kitchener’s throat when he does. Pink-red wet bone gleams from the gory tear he left behind. Danny sees the vertebrae of his neck before he turns his head and spits the wad of human meat and sinew from his mouth. A string of vein hangs from the corner of his jaw like a grisly noodle and he swipes it away. Still angry, the mental images of those tiny bodies broken on the soft brown sand dancing through his head in a tornado, Danny falls back on the body. He rips into its arm, its soft belly; he tears through its insides and into the meat of its legs. Danny claws and bites at the Kitchener animal’s dead, cooling body until his coat is wet with blood and he’s all tired out.

When he stands back at last, he shakes off and sends a fine mist of blood splatter from his coat. He feels better now. Much better. The Kitchener animal is gone, chunks and pieces of him scattered around on the pretty area rug and leaking into the rich, creamy carpet. Danny wipes his feet on a clean place before he steps onto the pale carpet again. A glance over his shoulder reminds him of the man who made him this way now and he chuffs with discomfort. What he did is not what Danny just did, but the bloody mess he left behind is horrifically reminiscent of it. The feeling, the comparison of tableaus, is far too close for comfort now. Danny isn’t an evil murderer, but just like the man who made him this way, he knew exactly what he was doing. He’s closed some tiny gap in what they are tonight and he hates that. He still can’t stop being _glad_ that the Kitchener animal is dead now. There’s no changing that feeling. He _fixed_ it. For that he is very _good_.

Danny licks his gory jaws and pants softly. The house is silent but for the ticking of a clock out in the hallway and the sound of Danny’s calm, even breathing. Thunder booms outside, heralding the rain’s impending arrival. The rain is also a good thing, but the pool he saw in the backyard is better for right now. He surveys the scene one more time and then walks away, tail wagging again as he goes.

Once he’s out again, the backdoor shut behind him, Danny goes to the swimming pool and wrinkles his nose at the sharp smell of chlorine before he wades into the clear, cool-warm water. He swims until the blue water is tinted a faint rusty orange, the blood from his coat diffusing through the hundreds of gallons. When he’s satisfied, he climbs out of the pool from the deep end and then shakes himself off violently, sending water in a glittering spray from his fur before he sneezes, all the smells having finally caught up with him. It’s okay though; there’s no one around to hear him now. At that thought, Danny wags his tail again then moves across the lawn to the shadow of the fence where he left his clothes.

Pushing the wolf back is bothersome because it never really wants to go anymore and Danny has to fight with himself not to let it stay. He does it though because otherwise he can’t go home to Steve and Steve is more important than being wolf-shaped. He can’t walk home this way either, that would just be stupid of him. It’s a long walk and there are lights and people, like there always are. People who would see and tell other people; most wouldn’t believe, but some would. Danny knows _very_ well that some people believe with a mad passion.

He dresses after he’s changed back and he feels incredibly tired. Shifting twice so close together, especially after what he just did, is exhausting. He’s happy though and when he leaves this time, he uses the sleeve of his shirt to open the back gate and slip through the narrow crack. Still using his sleeve, he closes it behind him with a soft _clang_ and moves away into the night at a leisurely pace, watching the lightning flicker across the sky and cast jumping shadows along the ground.

It begins to rain at long last when Danny is halfway home and by the time he walks into the front yard, he’s soaked all the way through. He doesn’t mind the wetness or the cold of the night rain on his skin. It feels good to him after having gone so long without even being able to _hear_ it, much less feel it. He tarries in the yard for a bit, he and the wolf playing a little since they’re in such a fine mood. Danny chases through the lightning streaked night, running at shadows and snapping at the raindrops that pelt down from above. He tips his head back and laughs up at the sky with pure delight. He feels _alive_ , really alive right now and he relishes it. He’s not worried or afraid, he’s just there and it’s really wonderful. One day, maybe he will play in the rain with Gracie, he bets she’d like it, too. Maybe they can get Steve to come play with them as well. If that could happen then it’d be extra wonderful, Danny thinks and the wolf agrees.

Eventually, he does go back inside, casting a last glance over his shoulder at the shimmering curtain of rain that’s pouring off the roof before he opens the door. Inside, Danny strips off his sodden clothes, bundles them up and carries them into the laundry room where he leaves them in the hamper in a soaking wad. Done with that, up the stairs he creeps, his damp feet making soft squeaking sounds against the risers. Steve is still asleep, he can hear him snoring, albeit a bit more softly now. Danny was a bit worried he’d wake up, but Steve was so drunk, he thought it would probably be okay. He’s still relieved to know he was right, especially since he forgot to turn the upstairs hallway light off.

He slips into the bedroom and snuffles Steve quietly to make sure all is well. It seems to be, Steve turns away from Danny’s warm, tickling breath on his cheek, but keeps right on sleeping. His checking done, Danny goes to the window on his side of the bed and pulls the curtain back to stare out at the storm-torn night sky. 

The moon is hidden behind the rain clouds now, but Danny can still feel it. It’ll be full in less than a week, maybe five, maybe six days is all the time Danny has left. It’s still only a hum in his blood for now, but it’s getting louder. Soon it will be a hypnotic, pulling song that draws Danny like a magnet. It’ll be a sonata just for him.

 _Soon, soon,_ the wolf agrees.

Danny nods, but he’s frowning as well. He doesn’t know where he’ll go or what he’s going to do, but he has to hide. He feels that. If Steve saw him, saw what he is… The thoughts are like déjà vu and they haunt him. He thought he was safe the last time, but he was wrong. And if he disappears again now, he will scare Steve all over again. He thinks this time; Steve may wage a tiny war to try and track him down. Danny’s terrified of what could happen then.

He knows instinctively that anyone seeing him while he is wolf-shaped wouldn’t understand. They’d be afraid. They’d try to hurt him. Not for the reasons the Boss hurt him, but they’d do it all the same. Or they’d run and tell other people and then those people would come. No, he definitely has to be able to hide, but there’s nowhere that really feels safe anymore other than Steve’s, not after what happened the first time. He can’t hide here though, not in the attic or anywhere else because Steve is home at night and the house is the _first_ place he’d look. No, it’s the worst hiding place ever unless no one else is here.

 _Worry later,_ the wolf tells him. Worrying is not something the wolf spends a lot of time doing. It is a creature of immediate things, it relies on instinct to help it decide when the time actually comes.

“Yeah,” Danny says under his breath as he strokes his temple for a moment. Then he takes his hand away to gnaw at the side of his thumb contemplatively.

He can still taste the Kitchener animal’s blood in his mouth, faint, but heavy all the same. It mingles with the taste of his own from his jaws twisting and reshaping, his teeth growing longer, during the change. The flavor of blood lingers, doesn’t become sour like the aftertaste of food usually does. It leaves a taste of salt and cream-copper touched with the faintest tang of iron that seems to live under the tongue, not on the palate. Danny doesn’t mind it so much and absently licks his jaws as he takes his thumb away before turning his eyes back to the sky. The moon is right outside the window, he remembers from all the times he watched it before. He presses his fingers to the cool glass and watches the fog of condensation form around the tips as he presses his face closer. His reflection is a phantom watching him back in the darkness and Danny stares into his shattered eyes; through them and out to the sky.

An hour or more passes before Danny hears Steve grunt softly before he begins to stir on the bed, waking up. He listens and waits and when Steve says his name, he turns his head to look at him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve wakes to the sound of thunder so loud it sounds like it’s ripping the sky apart. He can hear rain pelting the roof of the house and for a minute, one stupid thought runs through his head: _I am dead. I am dead. I am dead._ His head is pounding, his back aches and his teeth feel _funny_ ; slick-rough as though a fine grit of sandpaper has been overlaid on them. Then he opens his eyes and his pounding headache—hangover, his traitorous brain reminds him— _explodes_ right as his stomach lurches violently.

It comes back to him in slow, stretching degrees; the drunk he pulled earlier. Him, sitting on the couch next to Danny; Danny who is oh-so quiet now, but attentive and Steve knows he listens to every single word he says. He’d ranted, there’s no other way to put it, except maybe _and raved_ could be added on. The liquor loosened his tongue until whatever rolled through his head fell right out of his mouth and into the cool, humid air of the house.

Blinking, Steve rolls over and bites back a groan. He hasn’t felt this bad in a long time. He minds the drinking better than this. The consumption, while excessive, is still _controlled_ , but this time he lost control _terribly_.

He’s in bed now, although the last place he _remembers_ being was on the couch. This has been happening pretty regularly, in fact and it’s always disorienting and _strange_. Steve’s started to wonder if he _is_ blacking out and staggering upstairs, but his memories of everything else seems mostly clear. All the way up to tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling while he tried to find Danny’s head with uncoordinated pats at the air. His clothes are stuck to him with sweat from the booze squeezing itself out of his pores and he plucks at it listlessly with fingers that still feel clumsy.

Even though he feels awful, Steve can’t help but think about getting up for another drink. Hair of the dog can fix this that’s wrong with him; it can make it better. It always does. _It takes care of him._

Steve’s stomach lurches at the mere thought and still, his mind clamors and screams, _More! More! More!_ He’s lifting his hand to cover his mouth reflexively when he sees something from the corner of his eye. He turns his head a bit and sees a shadow by the window.

“Danny?” he says. 

Danny turns toward the sound of his voice and when he does, his eyes shine in the light from the hallway. Steve’s breath catches in his throat at the sight and with the memory that comes to him and sticks this time. The night before Danny disappeared, he’d woken from a dream—nightmare, really—and rolled over, reaching for Danny, only to find the bed empty. Danny had been standing by the window, painted silver-blue with streaming moonlight then, not wrapped in stormy darkness like he is now. Steve had said his name and Danny had turned around. His eyes had shone like chips of burning ice in his face then, too. It had startled Steve; he’d actually jumped a bit before catching himself. Aside from the lighting, this is just like then; _just like it_ , right down to the fact Danny was naked. His eyes have adjusted better and he can see that now, Danny’s skin is so pale it almost glows in the dim light.

He knew he’d seen Danny’s eyes do that before, but they’d been solid blue back then. The effect is the same, it both fascinates Steve and sends a chill skittering down his back. He’s not used to feeling unnerved by much of anything, most of all not by Danny. He remembers feeling this before though and not understanding it. Something about Danny had been different in the weeks leading up to his disappearance. It had been understated then, noticeable on a more subconscious level, but it had been there. It had been in the way he moved, the way he ate… the way he fucked.

Steve had liked it despite some vague, instinctive misgivings. Hell, he’d thought it was downright hot, if he’s being honest. Then Danny had vanished and Steve had slowly started losing the specifics of those last few weeks; little details had skittered away from him. What had lingered, he’s managed to mostly inadvertently drink away.

With another muttered curse, he forces himself into a sitting position. Hungover or not, he’s still pretty damned drunk, too. _Fun stuff, that’s what this is_ , he thinks. The thought bangs around in his aching head, syrupy with sarcasm so thick he can almost hear it.

Cradling his head gently, he says, “Danny, what are you doing?”

“Watching,” Danny says.

“Watching what?” Steve asks, half muttering it into his hands. His stomach feels _wobbly_ , but he pushes it away. He almost never throws up and he’s not keen on doing it right now either. He knows from experience that it’ll only make his head pound harder.

“Sky,” Danny says.

He moves away from the window and comes toward the bed. He walks so lightly that he barely makes a sound until the bedsprings squeak faintly under his weight. He nuzzles Steve’s upper arm affectionately and Steve turns his head to better look at him. Steve blinks his burning eyes to try and ease the discomfort as he reaches out to touch Danny’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Steve says just to say something.

Danny pulls back and looks at him for a second and then he smiles at Steve. It’s a huge, wide open smile that’s a little too much something else for Steve to be able to say it’s entirely hum— No, he stops himself right there; tries again: entirely _normal_. There seem to be too many teeth in that smile, teeth that look _sharp_ in the flickering blue glow of the lightning that forks the sky. That tickles something else in Steve’s memory that’s rendered temporarily inaccessible by years and a sick hangover. He knows he’s seen that smile before though; there’s something about Danny’s _sharp_ looking teeth that makes him remember that.

The thing about it that really catches Steve’s attention though is that Danny’s smile, no matter how odd it is, seems happy. Or _hap-py_ , as Steve tends to think of the word now and because of that, sick-drunk or not, he can’t help but smile back a little bit.

“Why are you so cheerful?” he manages to get out, his voice sounding almost as raw and tattered as Danny’s.

Danny only leans close, nuzzles him gently and then rubs his cheek against Steve’s, their stubble making a rasping sound that seems abominably loud to Steve’s throbbing head. “Fixed,” Danny says and he sounds pleased as punch as he pulls back to smile at Steve again. He reaches out and touches Steve’s face, fingers lightly running down to his jaw as he nods. “Promise.”

“Fixed what?” Steve asks, his brows drawing together with puzzlement.

Danny makes a low, chuffing sound, but doesn’t answer him. He only leans closer and watches Steve with eyes that don’t shine from this angle. There’s enough light he can see them though and they really are dancing with real happiness. It’s the happiest he’s seen Danny since earlier with Grace. Maybe that’s what he fixed, but Steve can’t think of anything that was there _to_ fix. Danny has a strange way of talking now though, so maybe seeing Grace after so long fixed something… What? Inside of him? Perhaps. It makes sense, Steve knows Danny was worried about seeing her the way he is now, but he’d been so delighted once she was there that he guesses that it’s a real possibility.

“Okay,” Steve says. He still doesn’t feel totally sure if his conclusion is right. He can’t say why, but something in his gut is assuring him there’s more to it. Then again, it could just be the fading nausea.

“Okay,” Danny echoes.

He closes the gap between them and kisses Steve then. It’s the first real kiss they’ve had since he came back. Steve’s been leaving him to it in his own time. After what Danny has been through, he needed the opportunity to come back to things at his own pace. It still feels so good to have Danny kissing him again like this that Steve forgets about “fixed” and almost forgets his banshee scream of a hangover. When Danny growls, hungry and demanding, his skin tightens with goosebumps even as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss; wanting more. As he licks over Danny’s tongue, Steve can’t help but think his mouth tastes like blood.

When they pull apart, Danny licks his lower lip and then pushes him lightly. “Sleep now,” he says.

“Really?” Steve says because he thought they were going to do something more entertaining.

“Uh-huh,” Danny says, sounding amused. “Sick and tired, that’s you, lit-er-al-ly. _Sleep_.” He taps his fingers on Steve’s arm as he smiles again, more normal now. “Always later, yeah?”

Steve laughs back as he lies down despite his libido’s protests. “Definitely,” he promises.

“‘Kay,” Danny says as he curls up next to Steve. “Good. ‘Night.”

“G’night, Danno,” Steve says as he runs his fingers through his hair and closes his eyes. Sleep comes quicker than he’d have thought it would and he’s out like a light, snoring again, in only a couple of minutes.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The ringing of his phone wakes Steve again at the crack of dawn. The light is murky, yellowish, as it tries to break through the lingering storm clouds. It’s stopped raining though and he grunts softly as the phone’s shrill ring pierces his now dully aching head. It seems like it goes in right behind his left eye and digs around as he slaps at the nightstand, trying to find it.

Danny is curled up beside him, breath caressing his lower ribcage, but he picks his head up to peer over Steve’s belly at him with sleepy eyes. “Pocket,” he says.

“Oh,” Steve says as he checks first his left and then his right pocket. Danny puts his head back down and continues dozing while Steve pulls his phone out at last. “McGarrett,” he says, trying like hell to sound awake and alert. He glances at Danny lying there and reaches out to touch his scarred back, wondering again at the cruelty someone would have to possess to do such a thing to another human being.

 _“Boss, we’ve got a situation,”_ Kono says on the other end.

“What is it?” Steve asks as he sits up and grits his teeth at a wash of vertigo.

 _“It’s Kitchener, he’s dead,”_ she says. _“I’m with Chin at his place right now, we were riding in to the office together when the call came over the radio. HPD was already on-scene with Max, but we should’ve called you ASAP, I know.”_

“What the hell happened?” Steve asks as he pops to his feet. He’s not worried about the rest of it right now. He gives his head a quick shake before going to the closet to grab clean clothes. He can’t go to a crime scene smelling like whiskey.

 _“He was murdered sometime last night,”_ Kono tells him. He listens as he pulls off his pants to yank on clean ones, juggling the phone around. _“We’re not sure when, Max can’t get a liver temp on him.”_

“Why the fuck not?” Steve snaps at her. He’s pissed now _and_ glad the sonofabitch is dead. Pissed because he didn’t get the chance to nail him to a wall himself. Glad because Kitchener won’t ever be able to hurt kids again. He’s also a little annoyed he isn’t the one that got to end him. Steve takes no pleasure in murder, but he thinks he would’ve had he decided to take Kitchener out. It shames him, but he can’t help it.

Kono hesitates on her end and swallows so hard he actually hears it. Her voice is shaking when she says, _“Because there’s not enough of it left. Boss… I…_ We _think he’s back; our guy from three years ago.”_

“Shit!” Steve yells as he grabs his boots from the side of the bed. He doesn’t remember taking them off. Then again he doesn’t remember going to bed either. And none of that is of any importance right now anyway. “You and Chin finish securing the scene. I’ll be there in twenty.”

 _“You got it,”_ Kono tells him then she’s gone.

He looks over his shoulder and finds Danny propped up, using his forearms to brace his upper body, watching him. “I gotta go, Danny,” he tells him. “I’ll be home… eventually. Something happened last night with the case I’ve been working.”

“Okay,” Danny says.

Steve nods then stands, pulls his shirt off and yanks a clean one down over his head. Dressed, he leans over to kiss Danny goodbye and then with a wave, he’s on his way. This is going to be such a fucking mess. Hell, it already is a fucking mess. Next will come the media circus and the panicked phone calls. The whole island will be afraid again before long. It’s a thought—a knowledge—that Steve hates. One day, he swears he’s going to get that murdering bastard.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Danny goes back to sleep for a while longer after Steve leaves in such a rush. When he gets up, he eats a pack of smoked turkey meat and some bacon for breakfast then goes and brushes his teeth. He doesn’t do much after that other than the usual: stand in the kitchen and wait. Soon, he thinks he’ll go to the attic for a nap though.

They found the sick Kitchener animal’s dead body and he is pleased with himself about that. He’s not so much pleased with being compared to the man who made him, but it’s not altogether bad either. It means no one will look at him, but then he thinks they wouldn’t anyway. The wolf doesn’t leave fingerprints and he knows from the serial case that all of the samples had been “corrupted”. He knows why now, but then it had frustrated him to the point he’d punched his wall one sleepless night and left a hole. It’s a strange blessing for Danny though since he bit and left saliva all over the body.

After a couple of hours, Danny has himself a snack of some smoked sausage links. He burps and licks his greasy lips then goes to throw the package away, reminding himself that Steve doesn’t like messes. He washes his hands and then paces for a while to have something to do since time drags when Steve’s gone. He’s better at waiting than he used to be, but he’s still not _great_ at it. Despite how he feels about it, the pacing has a way of soothing him as much as it can sometimes make him feel helplessly furious. It’s a contradiction.

Danny mouths the word to himself as he paces and then tries it out loud. He’s been working on his words lately, on saying them whole again. The wolf has receded enough that it’s making talking easier. He thinks there’s something wrong with his throat though because his _voice_ doesn’t sound any better. Danny spent a lot of time screaming and thinks he may’ve damaged something that perhaps cannot be fixed now. It’s not a thought he likes, but it’s one he can accept anyway.

The spices from the sausage are still faintly burning on his tongue when the landline phone rings. Danny jumps and growls at the sudden noise splitting his quiet morning open. He almost doesn’t answer, but then he thinks it may be Steve calling to check on him or just to talk because he’s probably not in a good mood after this morning.

So, he goes into the living room and picks up the cordless receiver. It clicks on when he lifts it from the cradle and he places it against his ear. “‘Lo?” he says.

At first no one says anything, but Danny can hear soft breathing, so he knows someone is there. After a second, that person begins to laugh, low and melodic; quietly delighted. Danny knows that laugh and his hand automatically tightens on the receiver as he bares his teeth with a growl.

 _“I saw the news this morning. What a busy boy you were last night. My, my,_ my.” The Boss’s voice curls into Danny’s ear like a serpent and he shudders. He tries to find his voice, but all he can do is growl again. The Boss just laughs.

Danny tries again and manages to say, “How?”

 _“Did you honestly think I didn’t know where you went? That I would just let my most precious acquisition go without so much as a peep?”_ the Boss asks him. He makes a tutting sound and it’s then that Danny feels his skin begin to crawl. _“Oh, Danny, I’ve known where to find you the whole time. Of course you’d go to him. I’ve just been waiting.”_

“No more,” Danny grits out.

 _“Wrong,”_ the Boss says. His voice is cold and flat now. He’s angry in that extra-terrible way he gets sometimes. When the Boss’s voice goes icy then Danny knows he’s in big, big trouble. _“Very wrong. I’ll be seeing you soon, count on it.”_

“No,” Danny says again. “No, you don’t. Won’t.”

 _“Yes, I do and yes, I will,”_ the Boss assures him. His voice is velvet soft and silky dangerous. He almost croons when he says, _“Danny, my Danny boy. You… have… been… such… a… bad dog.”_

Danny makes a strangled sound of animal rage and clamps his hand down on the receiver even tighter. It cracks in his grip, but it doesn’t matter because the Boss is gone now. The line clicks and the recorded voice of the operator squawks in his ear after a few seconds.

He screams then and slams the phone down onto the base. He bangs it down over and over and over again until he finally yanks the cord out of the wall and flings the base across the room. It hits the side of the stairs and then falls to the floor with a clatter. He’s still holding the receiver in his hand, it is mangled now and there are pieces of sharp white plastic all over the floor. He’s cut his hand on the broken plastic, he can see the blood, but he doesn’t feel the pain.

He paces the kitchen floor; left, right and back again and whines with distress. He does that for over an hour and every effort the wolf makes to calm him fails. Finally, the wolf shoves forward more and Danny lets out a shuddering breath as it settles down like a blanket. It is back where it was before and Danny welcomes it with a reluctant feeling of comfort.

“Sorry,” he croaks to the empty kitchen as the trembling starts to fade away at last. “ _Sorry_.”

He howls again, a miserable sound of sorrow and pain as he blinks at the microwave clock’s blurry looking numbers. One minute rolls over into the next and Danny stands, waiting, with the broken phone still clutched in his fist. He has to go and soon now—sooner than he’d thought—so he can keep Steve safe, but he’ll stay tonight. For Steve, this time he will stay long enough to try and say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been ages since I updated this, but I promise all of you that I will not abandon this story. It's just that real life _really_ gets in my way sometimes or I have a real genius moment and sign up for a BigBang. Or both. *facepalm* I do apologize for the long wait and while I won't--because I can't--promise you weekly updates on this, I do intend to try and get this finished at least by the new year, if not shortly after. Thank you all for being so patient with me here, I appreciate it so much. :D


	8. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told y'all I hadn't forgotten about this, but I have moved far, far away from this fandom after some... let's just say... unhappy experiences. That said, I love this story and I am still hell-bent and determined to finish it. There are only two chapters (maybe three) left and I swear I will make every effort not to leave you guys waiting for as long in between them as the wait for this one was.

It’s after three in the morning before Steve makes it home. The media circus came as he expected it to and he’s never had so many thinly veiled accusations of incompetence hurled at him as questions concerning “public safety”. The Kitchener scene was one big mess, Steve’s seen his fair share of gore and splatter on the job and in the Navy, but their killer is special. He’s the messiest of the messy, a pure rage killer if Steve’s ever seen one. When he finally lays into his victims, all the self-restraint he’s shown in other regards disappears.

Steve’s started to suspect he doses with something before moving in for the kill, maybe with PCP, because there’s no other way the brutality makes sense. A human being simply cannot do that, not without the influence of something else in their system. He remembers the dog angle; the dog that bit Danny and Max confirms there are signs that the Kitchener murder—and the others before it—are animal attacks. They even have claw marks in the hard maple back door of Kitchener’s residence. Claw marks that are nearly six feet off the ground.

 _Big… big dog_ , Steve remembers Danny saying. Big like an Irish wolfhound or some kind of mastiff. Except that doesn’t fit either because the spacing between the claw marks is too wide to be a paw. Max said it looked like fingers, said perhaps their killer wears gloves of some kind.

He’s thinking about that as he goes into the house, thinking about Kono staring at Max with her eyebrow raised and asking, “Like Freddy Krueger?”

It’s ludicrous, the whole thing is _ludicrous_. Of course, that could be said about this entire goddamn case because none of it makes much sense and nothing adds up. What they see should not be possible on a human scale and yet, there it is spread out before them in a big, red map.

What he needs right now is a drink, a shower and nap—in that order. And Danny. He needs to see Danny, talk to Danny, simply sit down for five minutes before he hits the bed and _be_ with Danny. They’re calling him incompetent, for fuck’s sake. He, Steven McGarrett, is being accused of shoddy police work. His unit has a higher solve and close rate than HPD does and this is and always has been a joint investigation, but Steve feels like it’s his team that is being singled out and made into scapegoats.

This is exactly how the mighty fall—they’re so high above everyone else it’s actually much easier to knock them down in the dirt and when they land, they tend to do so with a magnificent splatter. That this case could spell the end for the 5-0 unit if they don’t solve it is not a thought Steve welcomes. He doesn’t even truly believe it would get them shut down, but it could get their funding cut, it could bring everything they do from here on out under scrutiny, some bureaucratic little twat sniffing around every case report they submit.

Steve makes a sound of disgust in the back of his throat and rips the freezer door open to grab his vodka. Only when his fingers close around the icy neck of the bottle does he realize that Danny did not greet him at the door. Steve unscrews the cap on the bottle as he turns, eyes adjusted to the dim light from the stove’s hood vent.

“Danny?” he calls. “Danno?”

There’s a soft sound from the living room and a moment later, Danny is standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” Steve says. He pauses to take a long swallow of vodka. God, it’s so good, like a warm, soothing hand stroking his insides.

Danny stares back at him, eyes distant and strange; that look in them that Steve doesn’t like much. It’s the one that feels like it’s not all Danny gazing back. But then Danny moves out of the door and crosses the kitchen. When he gets to Steve, he hugs him, laying his cheek against his chest.

“What’s wrong, Danny?” Steve asks. He’s shaking standing there against Steve, his breathing a little too heavy.

“No-thing,” Danny says after a moment. “Was… wor-ried… is all. Very late.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says after another slug of vodka. He leans back against the fridge, one arm around Danny and kisses the top of his head. “I’ve been picking up pieces of Jared Kitchener most of the day and when I wasn’t doing that, I was being called an incompetent jackass.”

“Why in-com-pe-tent?” Danny pulls away to look at Steve.

“I haven’t caught the killer yet, now have I?” Steve asks. “That’s what we’re supposed to do and I…” He breaks off with a harsh laugh that he smothers with more vodka. “I can’t seem to manage that _one_ thing. It’s kinda important, too, you know.”

“Not your fault,” Danny says. He pushes lightly at Steve to try and drive his point home.

“Then whose fault is it?” Steve asks.

“Killer’s fault,” Danny says. “Not…”

He waves his hand around and then shrugs if off with a low whine. He cannot find the words necessary to finish his statement. It’s a delicate sort of thing where telling the truth is not an option and he doesn’t know how to lie about it either. All he knows is that it really isn’t Steve’s fault. No one ever worked a serial murder case and said, _By, Jove, I think I’ve got it: What we’re dealing with here is a werewolf!_ Or if that has ever happened then that person was probably fired or at the least, put on psych leave.

The human side of Danny thinks that is deliciously funny in a fucked up way. The wolf does not, however, get the joke at all.

Neither of them are really in a laughing mood anyway. They are trying to be strong for Steve and seem _normal_ (as normal as they can manage, anyway) because this is an important night. This is the _last_ night and they want to do it right; they want to say goodbye without having to say it at all. Danny has cried a couple of times today since The Boss called, has railed and stomped and snarled and chewed at himself all to no avail. It’s all over with and Steve is in more danger than he will ever know, so he and the wolf must go away.

“I’m so fucking tired, Danno,” Steve says. “So… I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“It’s okay, Steve,” Danny says. He licks his cheek. “Will be… safe and good, yes. Been a long day.”

“I thought it would never end,” Steve says. He’s looking right at Danny and finds himself wondering if he means this day or his sadness over losing Danny. Maybe it is a bit of both, which is fine, but his head is a mess right now and he stinks of sweat and the crime scene and the chemicals from Max’s lab. “I need a shower.”

“Go then,” Danny says. He pushes lightly at Steve again, this time to move him away from the fridge where he is still leaning like he might be thinking of taking root there.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Williams,” Steve says with the first smile he’s been able to muster all day.

“Bath.”

“What?”

“Bath.” Danny taps his temple and grumbles. “Bath. Soak. Tired and sore, make you feel… better.”

Steve considers that then nods. He can also drink without getting water in his vodka if he’s sitting in the tub.

“I’ll be out in a little bit.”

“Take time,” Danny says. “Will…” He lets out a heavy breath. “Will be here. Yes.”

When Steve is out of sight, Danny shudders all over and bends at the waist, arms wrapped around his head like a man ducking from an explosion. Inside he is twisted shrapnel and full of pain, the wolf anxious and upset. Both of them brokenhearted, but this is the right way, the way to keep Steve safe and alive.

There is only a little time left, but Danny means to make the most of it. He cannot say farewell, he cannot do anything much, really. He can still take a few more minutes, spool out a handful of moments to take with him—and to leave Steve with. The man does not know if what he intends to do—what he honestly _wants_ to do—is the cruel thing or the kind thing, but it’s all he’s got since words have failed him.

With one last shudder and a miserable whine, Danny straightens himself up and goes upstairs to wait for Steve.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve doesn’t linger in the bath long, he’s too tired and agitated to sit, but the time he spends soaking does help to ease the knots from his muscles. The vodka is an invaluable aid in that task as well and by the time he dries off, there is warmth simmering in his belly from it. Liquor makes everything all right. It’s a terrible mindset to have, his old friend awareness does not let him forget that for one second, but the thing about that friend is this: it’s easily ignored.

He opens the bathroom door and steps out into the hall, naked, the bottle of vodka dangling from his hand. The house is quiet all around him, eerie in the depths of its silence, but Steve doesn’t mind quiet. The cool air of the hallway makes goosebumps rise along his skin. It feels good, the air conditioning battling against the water-warmed temperature of his skin.

There’s no light on in the bedroom, but there is light from the hall and he sees Danny standing just inside the door, waiting for him. His eyes gleam and Steve swallows at the sight because it’s _wrong_ , human eyes do _not_ shine like beacons in the dark. What makes Danny’s eyes do it is a mystery to Steve just as the cracks in the blue of his irises leave him floundering for a logical explanation.

He puts the vodka down on the dresser and only then does Danny move, preternaturally silent and so _quick_ that it takes Steve aback for a second. Then Danny’s hands are on him, his mouth is at the pulse in his neck, open and sucking at it the way Steve likes. He groans with the surprise of the onslaught, but this—he wants this, has wanted it for years now, spending more nights and days than he cares to acknowledge missing it.

Steve wraps his arms around Danny and tilts his head to the side, his skin warming all over again as Danny grabs him, tugs him closer and begins backing them up toward the bed. Danny was always handsy, touchy-feely and grabby in a good way, but before he disappeared he became more aggressive. Demanding. Steve went with it happily; he liked the change in Danny (though he had no complaints before). There was such hunger in the way Danny would lay his hands on him, put his mouth against his skin; possessiveness in the way he would sometimes nip and bite him.

Steve is caught somewhere between the past and present when Danny turns them and gently pushes Steve down on the bed. He goes with a surprised, pleased bark of laughter and lays back, arms outstretched in invitation.

Still, he has to ask, “You sure about this?”

“Yes,” Danny says as he crawls over Steve. It sounds like a growl, the one syllable grating and rolling in his throat. “Want.”

Steve props up on his elbows and leans close to Danny, whispers across his lips, “You can have it.” It has always been Danny’s to have; Steve gives himself willingly to him with more trust than he ever has anyone else.

Danny makes a hungry sound in the back of his throat then crushes their mouths together. Steve laces his fingers behind Danny’s neck and lays back on the bed, pulling Danny down with him, his weight settling atop Steve. He realizes belatedly that Danny is naked as well, realizes that he stood there in the dark waiting to pounce. Steve feels hunted somehow and it makes his stomach tighten with desire.

Danny breaks the kiss and begins working his way down Steve’s body, licking and sucking, dragging his teeth over Steve’s skin until he trembles and arches into the touch. Danny licks his right nipple until it is painfully sensitive then he bites it, pinches with his teeth and Steve cries out, the sound hoarse and raw in the quiet darkness. The pain rushes through him in hot little ripples of pleasure. Danny knows this secret about him, this thing that he guards so carefully because it could be used against him like a weapon in the wrong hands. Pain is an aphrodisiac, a little here and there spikes Steve’s senses through the roof, amps up his pleasure and wrecks him if he lets it.

When Danny pushes at him to roll over, Steve does so and shivers at Danny’s mouth and teeth and hands moving across his back and shoulders, fingers digging into his hips possessively. Steve pants against his crossed forearms and when Danny snakes an arm under him and lifts him up, he goes willingly. Danny nips his left ass cheek and Steve rocks forward with a moan at this newest pain. Then Danny licks him and all the air leaves his lungs. He was not expecting this, they never did _this_ and his mind is blank with the shock and the pleasure and the little thrill of doing something so damn dirty.

Danny presses the tip of his tongue inside of him as the hand pressed against the flat, trembling plane of Steve’s belly moves down to his cock. He begins to jerk him off in time to the slow licks and Steve gasps, back arching more as he rocks into the touch. He bites his arm to muffle the sounds he’s making while heat and shivers climb up his spine. He wants so bad he aches with it and what Danny is doing is fantastic, but it’s not enough. He knows he could come this way, he feels the promise of it just over the horizon, but it’s not what he wants. He’s waited so long for Danny to come home and be here in this bed with him again that he doesn’t want to ruin it by coming all over Danny’s fingers.

“Danny… Jesus, Danny…” Steve swallows harshly and moans again as Danny pushes his thumb inside of him then licks around it. “ _Fuck_. Stop, okay? I want…” Steve quakes and moans and tries to force himself to find the words he needs.

“Fuck. Me. Danny, fuck me.” The words come out as a rough gasp, but Danny growls and he feels… Jesus Christ on a cracker, he feels the vibration of it against his skin and he makes the most pathetic whimpering sound he has ever made in his whole fucking life.

Danny withdraws his tongue and his thumb, takes his other hand away from his cock and Steve slumps back to the mattress feeling almost boneless. Then he makes himself get up again so he can yank open the nightstand drawer for the bottle of lube there. It’s old, but the bottle was nearly full and has stayed closed. It’s not like lube has an expiration date, at least not as far as Steve knows. He doesn’t want to think about such shit right now anyway.

He shoves the bottle at Danny who takes it with a sound of amusement that melts into another growl. Steve almost moans at the sound alone; he never knew until this started with Danny, this new side of him, that he could like something so _animalistic_ in a partner, but damn does he ever. 

Danny licks him one more time and Steve’s voice cracks on a loud moan. Then his mouth is gone, replaced by two slick fingers at once and the pleasure this time is new-old. Steve rocks back into it, into the strokes of Danny’s fingers inside of him and opens his mouth to pant. Sweat prickles along his hairline and runs down his jaw as he pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, head hanging as he gasps and fucks himself on Danny’s fingers.

Then even Danny’s fingers are gone and there is a long, silent moment where Steve’s skin is so alive that every cell feels electric-bright. Danny takes his hips in his hands and presses his cock to Steve’s opening and pushes inside of him while pulling Steve back at the same time. Steve grits his teeth and moans at the gentle burn of being stretched this fully again after so long.

When Danny is fully inside of him, he rocks against Steve’s ass once, grinding and Steve mutters, “Yeah, Danno, yeah—like that.”

He fucks Steve hard and slow, deep thrusts that slam their bodies together in a collision of sweating flesh. Danny’s hands grip Steve’s hips, pulling him back to meet each thrust until they find a brutally satisfying rhythm together. It leaves Steve panting and moaning, Danny growling every now and then, ratcheting up his pleasure even more.

Then Danny folds himself over his back, fucking him with short, stabbing thrusts that are relentless. They leave Steve feeling like his mind is going to crack like an egg from the intensity of the pleasure. He’s close, so damn close that he can feel it with every throbbing beat of his heart. It starts out deep in his belly, distant and muted, but it grows with every thrust inside of his body.

Danny pounds him even harder and Steve gasps, fighting for breath. Then Danny bites the back of his neck with a wicked snarl, teeth clamping against the tender skin there with such wild ownership that Steve short circuits. All he knows are Danny’s teeth sinking into the back of his neck, tying them together in such a primeval way that Steve shatters against him, thinking of smiles full of sharp teeth in the dark.

_The better to eat you with, my dear._

He comes with a shout, jerking against Danny, hips working into Danny’s thrusts as he fucks him through his orgasm. Steve moans and shakes while his body goes on autopilot and milks every drop of pleasure from this that it can. The heavy, weighted years of longing fall away with each throbbing pulse of his orgasm and all Steve can do is cry out through his clenched teeth.

Danny follows him over the edge a moment later and Steve groans with tired pleasure at the feeling. It’s another thing he never thought he would like, but he does. Danny lets go of his neck then and licks over the shallow wounds left from his teeth. Steve murmurs wordlessly and sags beneath him down into the mattress and Danny goes with him. He lays over Steve, licking and making soft animal sounds for another minute or two before he finally moves away to lay beside him.

“Holy shit,” Steve says after another minute. He laughs and turns his head on the pillow to look at Danny. “Holy. Shit.”

“Yes?” Danny asks with a smile that shows no teeth.

“You’re fuckin’ A right, _yes_ ,” Steve says. “What the hell was that?”

“Um… Sex,” Danny says. He cocks his head and looks at Steve.

Steve laughs and moves closer to Danny. “That was really, _really_ good sex, actually.”

Danny snuffles his hair and licks the sweat away from his jaw line. “Am… glad. Wanted to be good for… Has been a long time.”

“I’m… let’s just say… _impressed_ ,” Steve says around a yawn.

Danny makes that funny chuffing sound that passes for laughter from him these days. Then he curls around Steve, twining their sweat-sticky limbs together and holding him tight.

Steve holds him back, but does have to ask, “You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine,” Danny says. “Love you, Steven.”

“Love you, too, Danno,” Steve says. The moment is ruined when he yawns again.

Danny chuffs some more then loosens his hold on Steve enough he can settle down into bed and get comfortable. “You sleep. Made you tired.”

“Don’t get a big head about it,” Steve says. He was already tired, but Danny officially _wore him out_ , that is true.

“Too late.”

Steve smiles and closes his eyes when he feels Danny’s fingers combing through his hair. It soothes Steve and he settles closer to Danny as he drifts off, content and happy despite the shitty day he’s had and he has Danny to thank for that.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It is another hour before Danny trusts Steve is asleep deeply enough for him to move. He disentangles himself from Steve and freezes when Steve makes a sound in his sleep and tries to shift closer to Danny’s retreating warmth. He lays his hand on Steve’s cheek and when Steve turns into the touch, Danny’s heart gives a painful lurch.

He slides the rest of the way off the bed onto his knees beside it and props his chin on the edge of the mattress. His hand is still on Steve’s cheek, the prickle of his stubble an anchor point to the skin of his palm. Danny’s eyes sting and water and he wants so badly to stay that it’s a real physical ache he feels in each of his joints.

 _Bite. Fix this and bite,_ the wolf says, insistent and squirming under Danny’s skin.

 _No! Not a fix!_ Danny argues back. _Worst idea. Makes Steve_ bigger _target if he’s like us._

The wolf finally seems to understand and settles down with a sad, annoyed grumble. Danny presses his hand to Steve’s cheek lightly and winces when he once again moves into the touch. This hurts so much.

“You are the best thing,” Danny whispers. He strokes his thumb lightly over Steve’s cheek. “Love you. So sorry.”

He makes himself move away then or else he will lose his will and stay after all. Danny gets dressed quietly then moves out of the bedroom, down the stairs to the back door where he hesitates only a second before opening it and stepping into the warm night breeze. It licks at the tears on his face, but Danny scrubs them away as he crosses the porch and jumps off the side to lope into the night. He doesn’t know where he’s going yet, only that he has to get far away from Steve.

As he runs, he turns his face up to the moon, lets her wash him in her cold light. She is so close, such a promise singing inside of him that for a second, he forgets his pain. Then he remembers the prickle of Steve’s stubble against his hand and the hurt begins anew.

Danny stops a little while later and sinks to his knees, head tilted back as he howls up at the moon, asking, _Why me?_

~*~*~*~*~*~

In the morning, Steve wakes pleasantly sore, feeling tender and used in the best way. He stretches with a smile then his hand brushes the cold sheets beside him, his mind registers there is no warmth or weight against him. He’s grown used to the welcome familiarity of Danny taking up space in his bed again and now that it’s not here, his heart stutters in his chest.

He sits up and rubs his face, tells himself he is being silly. Danny just got up before him for a change. He’s probably downstairs eating whatever scraps of meat he can get his hands on or at least thinking about it. Steve grimaces when he imagines Danny gnawing at a frozen chicken thigh, but knows it is not beyond the realm of possibility given how Danny is now—how Danny _eats_ now.

It’s with that thought in mind that he gets out of bed and pulls on a pair of shorts before walking out of the room. He snags the bottle of vodka off the dresser and turns it up for a swallow as he goes. He does not think about what he’s doing or that it’s only a little after eight in the morning.

Downstairs the house is as empty as it is upstairs and Steve frowns. There’s no evidence of Danny having been in the fridge, no meat wrappers or scraps of bone littering the table where he missed them when he tried to clean up (and hide the evidence).

Steve goes outside then, down to the beach and all over the yard.

“Danny?!” he calls. “Danny, where are you?!”

He waits, listens to the gentle susurration of the surf as it laps ashore then drags back out again. There is nothing but the sound of the ocean and the whispering breeze curling around his body. Steve takes another pull of vodka and only then notices he’s outside, half-naked with a bottle of liquor at ass o’clock in the morning. It is bad form all around, but he doesn’t really give a fuck either because something is wrong. Danny is not here and Danny is _always_ here because he doesn’t even leave the house much unless it is to go swimming.

Steve scans the shore then looks out at the water, hoping to see Danny bobbing and dipping on the waves, diving under and coming back up with spluttering noises as he blows saltwater out of his nostrils. There’s nothing, the water is calm and serenely blue, he can see all the way to the horizon almost. Steve feels like it is mocking him, like the cradle of ocean and sky are rocking him back and forth with derisive laughter.

He tears his eyes away and calls out again, “Danny?! Answer me, goddamnit! _Danny!_ ”

In the distance, a bird calls a bright cheerful song, but there is no answer, no sign whatsoever of Danny. Steve’s insides ice over as he turns in a circle on the lawn until he feels dizzy, expecting Danny to appear any second. When he doesn’t do so after another few minutes, Steve turns and jogs back into the house.

He goes through it from top to bottom, he even checks the cabinets under the kitchen sink. He goes up to the attic and wrinkles his nose at the strange, musky smell that greets him. It’s not the familiar odor of old, mostly forgotten things and dust, but is instead the smell of an animal. It hangs in the air, heavy in the stuffy enclosure and Steve wonders if there’s something nesting up here though be damned if he can guess what. Some of the boxes have been moved around to form a clumsy wall and when he peeks over it, he finds old blankets in a messy pile, long sandy hairs clinging to them.

“What the fuck?” Steve says. Then, “Danny? Are you up here?”

He knows he’s wasting his time though, the attic isn’t that big and all he’s found is this weird animal nest. He goes to turn away and stops when something in the folds of fabric catches his attention. He moves the boxes aside and leans through the gap to pick it up. It is an empty bag from the deli down the road; the printed label on it says it was a half pound of black forest ham at one time.

“What the _fuck_?” Steve says again. Then he turns away, empty package still in his hand, as he goes back to the main part of the house.

“Danny!” He screams it once he’s standing in the upstairs hallway again.

He is panicking, simple as that. Steve McGarrett _does not_ panic, except he is doing so right now. Because Danny is gone. Danny is not here. Something has been sleeping in his attic or Danny was hiding an animal up there and that makes no goddamn sense whatsoever. Nor does it matter right now because _Danny is not here_.

Steve tells himself to take a deep breath and then goes into the bathroom where he left his cell phone last night. He has missed calls, but he ignores them and dials Chin instead.

“I need your help,” Steve says when he picks up. “Danny’s gone and I can’t find him and I…” He stops talking, lets his breath out with a _whoosh_. When he speaks again, he’s calmer, “We need to find him, Chin.”

“ _I can be en route with Kono in ten,_ ” Chin says.

“Make it five,” Steve says.

“ _Can do,_ ” Chin says.

They all know that whatever happened to Danny was no fluke and that it has probably left him with a target on his back. He escaped because no way in hell would someone so sadistic have ever let Danny go alive. Now he has disappeared into thin air and the knowledge spreads across every thought Steve has like a stain.

“This cannot be happening again,” he says under his breath.

Steve sits down on the side of the bed and drinks from the bottle still clutched in his hand until he cannot breathe. Then he sets it aside, gets up and gets dressed. His heart is thundering in his ears and his hands are shaking. This newest disappearance is tearing Steve apart already, all of his tentatively healed wounds cracking open again to bleed into the cruel light of day. He makes a strangled sound of frustrated fear and then bends down to lace his boots.

He cannot find Danny if he allows himself to fall apart. There has never been anything so important in all his life as doing this one thing. He just got him back; he can’t live through losing him once more.

He goes downstairs to wait on Chin and Kono and tries to ignore the ticking of the clock in the back of his mind like a warning, a threat of what will happen if he doesn’t find Danny this time. If he listens too closely, he knows he will hear the desolate truth: the clock is winding down toward the end of everything.


	9. Eight

It has been three days since Danny disappeared again and Steve’s at the end of his rope. When Danny was with him, he gave Steve nothing to go on; only the mysterious mention of “he”. They have no name, no physical description, not even the vaguest idea of a location. Steve is suffering from an ongoing case of déjà vu that shows no sign of letting up.

The media is still all over them about Jared Kitchener’s murder, the island is ramping up into a panic again. Everyone is looking at Steve, Chin and Kono. Max’s skills as a coroner are even being called into question now. No one knows about Danny except the four of them, Rachel and Grace. Steve can’t tell anyone either; he’s weighed the odds and they don’t look like they would fall in his favor.

If he held a press conference and asked for information concerning the whereabouts of Danny Williams; if he broke down and pleaded for his safe return then that might be the exact thing that gets Danny killed. Steve has seen the scars on Danny’s poor body and knows exactly what that beast is capable of. Or it could go the other way: Steve could show his face (and his hand) on television and then the person who had Danny before would know he was out there somewhere without the protection being in Steve’s home offered. They could find Danny before Steve does if they don’t already have him. No matter how Steve spins it in his head, the outcome is not good.

He leaves headquarters late in the evening of the third day since he lost Danny again. Yes, _lost_ , that’s the perfect word for what Steve has done. He’s failed him, let Danny down again because he can’t keep him safe, can’t look out for him. Can’t take care of him like he ought to. It’s Steve’s responsibility to care for the people he loves and there is no one in this world that he loves more than Danny. _His_ Danny. Now he’s gone again and God knows what could be happening to him while Steve spins his wheels looking for answers that simply are not there.

He stumbles halfway to his truck, vision blurring and chest hitching. Steve shakes his head viciously and tells himself he will not do this here. He will not do it _at all_ ; he doesn’t have the luxury of tears, not even after all that has happened today. 

Grace showed up at the office around two o’clock that afternoon. Steve was pretty sure her suspension was over, which meant she should have been in school. Then he thought about that and called himself a moron. He wasn’t the only one who was torn up about Danny; of course Grace wouldn’t want to go to school after finding out the father she’d only just gotten back had gone missing all over again.

She’d stood in Steve’s office, just staring at him, breathing heavy, face a blank mask. He’d gone to her, knelt down at eye-level and said, “I’m going to find him, Gracie.”

“Like you did last time?” Grace had said after a long, painful silence. The raw, angry grief in her voice had jarred Steve to his very core. No child should sound like that, so old and tired and _bitter_. So bitter.

“I’m sorry,” Steve had said. “I’m trying.”

“You _lost him_!” Grace had screamed at him as she shoved him so hard he rocked on his heels. “You lost him and he might never come back and _it’s all your fault_!”

“Grace, please—” Steve had tried to take her by her shoulders, but she’d backed out of his reach.

“I hate you,” Grace had sneered. “ _Hate_ you. He trusted you. _I_ trusted you and you just let him _go_! How could you do that? HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?!”

She’d smacked his hand when he reached for her again then whirled on her heel and ran out of the room, ducking under Kono’s arm as she’d reached for her.

“Boss, are you all right?” Kono had asked, pale and wide-eyed. “I heard and—”

“Just… just give me a minute,” Steve had said. He’d been having a hard time swallowing, a hard time thinking. The room had been spinning and he could not breathe. It was becoming an alarming trend, his inability to catch his breath these days.

Kono had left him alone and when she was gone Steve sat down on the floor and just stared at his hands. Hands that couldn’t hold onto a damn thing that was important. 

Now he leans against the side of his truck and rests his head against the cool fiberglass while he tells himself to breathe. There’s a flask full of whiskey in his glove compartment and Steve can hear its siren song calling to him. That’s what he needs, not this shit, not all of this loss and sorrow and guilt. He just needs a few sips from his flask and things will look a little better, not perfect or all right, but he can manage them if he has a taste.

He’s got his hand on the door handle, mouth actually watering as he thinks about the whiskey, when someone behind him says, “Commander McGarrett, I was wondering if I could have a word.”

He turns around and comes face to face with a local reporter by the name of Keala Reeves. She’s young and hungry, ruthless, everyone says—and Steve has seen. She’ll go to any lengths she has to in order to get her story. Even if that means waiting for who knows how long in a dark parking lot.

“What do you want?” Steve asks. He’s not in the mood to be professional and brusquely courteous right now.

“I want to know what you’re doing to capture Jared Kitchener’s murderer,” Keala says. The wind plays with her long, dark hair. To Steve it looks like black spider silk glimmering in the glow of the streetlights. Her pretty mouth turns up in a challenging smirk as she adds, “In fact, I’m just dying to know what you’re doing to catch the murderer, period. How many bodies has he left you now, Commander? Or do you even know anymore?”

Steve grits his teeth and takes a deep breath through his nose. “You want a quote, Ms. Reeves, is that it?” Steve asks.

“Keala, please,” she says, smirk broadening into a smile. “But yes, I’d love a statement from the head of 5-0 himself. You’ve been really quiet about all of this and we’re all just itching to hear what you have to say.”

Before Steve can help himself he thinks, _Fuck you, bitch_. “Then here you go, _Keala_ ,” Steve says through his teeth as he takes a step toward her. Her smile falters and she hesitates, wants to back away, but in the end she holds her ground and tips her chin up defiantly. “You ready?”

“Whenever you are,” she says. She tries to smile again, but she can’t, not with Steve looming over her.

“I don’t give a flying fuck about Jared Kitchener,” Steve says. “He was a child rapist piece of shit that deserved everything he got. As far as I’m concerned, this _one time_ that goddamn psychopath performed a public service. Concerning the rest of the killer’s victim’s, we’ve never stopped trying to find him and we never will. We’re doing the best we can and that is _all_ we can do in this situation. People such as yourself don’t make that very easy sometimes, what with sticking your noses up our asses every chance you get and coloring public opinion toward us in the negative. Then again, I guess that’s what hateful cunts like you do to get off. Am I right?”

Keala’s eyes are huge in her face, expression warring between shock and fury at what Steve just said to her. It makes him smile; that felt good, God, so good. Some of the agonizing weight on his chest has been lifted off. It’s not a permanent fix, but it’s a respite that he will take gladly.

“There’s your fucking quote, Keala,” Steve says. “Have a great goddamn night, bitch.”

He turns away and goes back to his truck before she can even try to articulate what she wants to say. It’s only as he’s backing away that he hears her yell, “Go fuck yourself, McGarrett! This is going to be on the front page tomorrow! You hear me?! You just hung yourself, asshole!”

That is probably true; Steve knew that even as he was saying it. He could really lose his job over what he just did, but he doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t care about much of anything anymore. All he can figure is that it’s better to go out with a bang instead of a whimper.

Half a mile from headquarters, Steve turns down a street off the main drag and brakes at a stop sign marking an intersection. He leans over, takes his flask out of the glove compartment and unscrews the cap with his teeth. As he accelerates away, he takes a long, deep swallow and thinks, _Better. That is_ so _much better now,_ as the burn hits his throat and works its way down to his belly.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Outside in the swaying trees and tall grass, Danny watches Steve move around his house. He’s a silhouette against the windows, stumbling and bumping into things. He hears a crash from inside the house a little while later and whines through his teeth.

 _Can’t go,_ the wolf says. It understands now with the kind of single-minded ferocity only an animal can have. _Miss him, but must stay here._

 _Not safe, I know,_ Danny agrees sadly.

Inside, Steve is cursing like the sailor he is and something else crashes. The first time, Danny thinks was an accident—Steve’s drunk again and likely fell into or over something. Now he’s just sad-mad and throwing things to try and get it all out.

“FUCK!” Steve bellows. His voice is ragged and strained.

Danny crouches down with another miserable whine and feels phantom ears lay back against his skull. This is his fault, all of Steve’s sadness and anger is because of him, but there’s nothing he can do. Still, he fidgets and wants to _fix it_. The meanest thing of all though is that this—staying away—is the only way he can fix it.

“Much damage though,” Danny mutters and taps his temple. Something else inside the house crashes. Danny can see Steve as he sinks down to the floor like all the wind has been knocked out of his sails. His good ears let him hear the sound of Steve’s hoarse weeping and Danny frowns.

 _Much, yes,_ the wolf agrees. _We are doing good thing though._

 _Doing good with being bad,_ Danny says back.

 _No right way,_ the wolf says. _None._

“Could kill,” Danny says. “The Boss. Could make him be dead.”

 _Not back there,_ the wolf says. _Want him to be dead, too, but not going._

“No, not going,” Danny says. “But maybe we can find?”

 _Maybe,_ the wolf says. _Hunt. Scare out in open._

 _Need to plan._ Danny taps his temple.

 _Big plan, yes,_ the wolf says.

Danny scratches at himself; he’s itching all over, the moon will be full tomorrow and he can already feel it in his body. His skin feels too full, stretched tight-tight over his frame. His muscles twitch and jump like sleeping things waking from a long nap as he rubs his cheek against a tree trunk. 

From the house comes a sound like an animal in pain and Danny backs away a step with a shake of his head. He can’t stay here; he shouldn’t have come back at all.

“Must stay gone,” he reminds both himself and the wolf. “Last time ‘til safe again.”

 _When ever safe?_ the wolf asks.

 _Been a long time, yes,_ Danny says. Out loud, “One day though. Safety.”

 _Don’t know,_ the wolf says. _Maybe._

“Definitely,” Danny says. “Then home again.”

He gives the house one last regretful look before he turns and walks away, leaving behind Steve and the heart-ripping sounds he is making. He and the wolf need to eat, which means they must hunt. A few blocks away, he hears a dog’s deep _roop-roop-roop_ bark and turns in that direction, licking his teeth as they go. The moon at Danny’s back is like a gentle hand guiding him along.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve is woken up bright and early by the sound of his phone ringing. His stomach lurches when he opens his eyes and pain like a lightning bolt splits his skull. Still, he picks up the phone and thinks, _Here we go,_ as he taps ACCEPT.

Fifteen minutes later, Steve has officially been suspended without pay and his ass has been thoroughly reamed by the governor. Chin is now in charge of 5-0 in Steve’s absence and has also called him up to tell him not to worry; he’ll keep Steve in the loop.

Steve thanks him, calmly hangs up the phone then rushes to the bathroom to vomit up the remains of his binge last night. His unhappy stomach is much appeased after he makes his offering to the porcelain god. Steve reminds himself not to mix liquor and beer and if he does then it’s good to remember: _Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear. Beer before liquor, you’ll be even sicker._ He’d started out great; he finished up all the whiskey he had (it wasn’t that much) then started on beer, but that wasn’t doing the trick, so he hit the vodka. After that it was a bad one man pity party all the way around.

He brushes his teeth and only when he’s finished does he look in the mirror. He has a black eye. How the hell did that happen? Steve frowns at his reflection and tries to think through the murk. After a minute, the vague memory of falling over the coffee table comes back to him along with even vaguer (and infinitely more shameful) memories of sitting on the living room floor bawling like a kid with a skinned knee. He shouldn’t have done that. How many times does he have to tell himself _he does not deserve that_ before it sinks in?

“I need a drink,” Steve announces to himself in the mirror, but he cannot meet his bloodshot grey eyes when he says it. Some days he barely even recognizes himself anyway.

The downstairs is a disaster area; there’s so much shit broken in the floor that Steve can barely see it all at first. He even turned the armchair on its side and busted the screen on the television. It was a bad night indeed.

“Fuck,” Steve says as he picks his way through the wreckage. He tells himself he’ll get to it later though he’s not even sure he believes himself. It looks like so much _work_ and he’s just so damn _tired_. His legs alone feel like they each weigh a ton and his eyes are gritty, burning, as he opens the fridge to grab a beer.

As he takes his first sip, he hears a woman’s voice from out on the street calling, “Pele, here, Pele! Where are you girl?!”

Steve thinks about the weird nest in the attic and wonders about that again, but he’s too tired to even give that much thought. He aches all over and no doubt his black eye isn’t the only bruise he’s got after falling all over the place last night, but this ache goes deeper. He takes another swallow of beer then makes his slow, shuffling way back into the living room. It hurts just to move that much because right now Steve is having a difficult time seeing the point in anything; getting up, moving around, breathing. Living.

He can’t survive this again, he knows he can’t. There is a bullet with his name on it if he can’t locate Danny this time. The guilt and grief will kill him in the end anyway; Steve doesn’t see the point in prolonging the inevitability of that. Then again, maybe that is the point: to suffer. Maybe that is what he deserves, not the ease of a quick bang then blackness.

He needs to go look for Danny, but that’s a laugh and a half, isn’t it? Steve sits on the sofa after clearing off a spot with movements not much different than those of a sleepwalker. He sighs and drinks more beer, racking his brain, thinking, _Where? Where? Where?_ That’s the million dollar question, that’s what that is.

Steve makes a strained sound of anger through his teeth and it helps to clear the fog in his mind. He couldn’t find Danny before, so why should he think now would be any different? He shouldn’t think that because it’s not any different. He’s in the same old place as before and in fact, now that he thinks about it, he’s even worse off this time. At least before they had a general idea of Danny’s last whereabouts, they had a place to look. Now Danny’s last whereabouts happen to have been Steve’s fucking house and well, sorry folks, he’s not here.

Steve toasts his distorted reflection in the busted TV screen then drains his beer before getting up to grab another one.

He leaves a couple of hours before dusk to walk up to the little liquor store a few blocks over. It’s not his usual shop, but he’s too drunk to drive even by his irresponsibly low standards these days. There are missing dog posters taped to light poles all the way there:

**Have you seen Pele?**

**She is a German shepherd/Labrador mix.**

**She was stolen from our yard last night!**

**She is black and tan, has one ear that flops, one that stands up.**

**BELOVED FAMILY PET! WE MISS HER!**

**REWARD!!! PLEASE CALL IF YOU FIND HER!**

Steve leans closer to read the note under the picture of a happy looking dog. It says, _She isn’t wearing a collar. We found it in the alley, but she is micro-chipped._ And one last plea: _If you took her, please bring her back. No questions will be asked._

“Sucks to be Pele,” Steve mutters then instantly feels bad about it. “Sorry,” he mumbles to the poster before lurching his way onward once again. It seems like everything is going to shit these days; dogs stolen from back yards, boyfriends stolen from houses and a serial killer on the loose all over again.

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face as he lurches down the sidewalk. Pele’s owners are probably wasting their time just like Steve. He could tell them—but he won’t, that would be cruel—that if the dog’s collar was left behind then she’s probably already dead. People who steal dogs to use for bait in illegal dog fighting rings do that kind of thing all the time. It was something of a scandal a few years back and if Pele is anything to go by then it might be getting started up again. Poor damn dog. All of them; the ones made to fight and the ones they steal to train them to do so. It’s all such a mess.

 _Everything_ is a mess.

As Steve is making his slow, slightly unsteady way home from the liquor store with two bottles and a twelve pack, it belatedly occurs to him that he may be suffering from depression. That’s a new one on him; he’s never had problems with that before. Then again, he’s never had to live through this kind of shit before. He lost his parents, but he _knew_ what happened to them, too. There was comfort—albeit cold comfort—in knowing that much. They never disappeared one day only to come back years later just to do it all over again. Losing them never made Steve feel so useless and alone as losing Danny has done to him. Steve could have found out what happened to his parents, there were clues and evidence and _methods_ he could employ.

Now… now there is nothing and that nothingness is filling Steve up.

Steve sits down on the porch and cracks open a fresh bottle to take a swig. He looks out at the lawn, the long shadows stretching into oncoming night and thinks, _Here there be monsters._

With a wan smile, Steve taps his temple, which makes him think of Danny and just like that, he’s frowning again. To wipe the frown away, he takes another swallow from the bottle and closes his eyes.

It’s nearly dark when he wakes up again to a hand on his shoulder. Steve jerks awake and blinks up at the man standing over him. He squints to focus, realizes he’s still drunk, so he can’t have been out that long. Then the man’s face registers and Steve says, “Thomas. Hey.”

“Hello, Steven,” Thomas Bailey Cream says as he steps back to lean against the porch railing. “I see this evening is finding you well.”

“Well like a bullet in the head, sure,” Steve says. He says to hell with it and feels on the table beside him for the bottle. He grabs it and takes a swallow before asking, “What brings you here, Thomas?”

“Oh, I was in the neighborhood,” he says. “I needed to speak with you, you see.”

“What about?” Steve asks. He turns the bottle up for another swallow.

“I’ve lost my dog,” Thomas says.

“There’s a lotta that goin’ aroun’ lately,” Steve says. “I’m not even officially a cop anymore. _Pretty sure_ I am fired.” Jesus fucking Christ, he’s slurring. He takes another swallow of whiskey to correct that. The thought makes him snort out laughter, which in turn makes his head spin. He’s drunker than he initially thought. Something else occurs to him though and he adds, “Also! Cops are not finders of lost pets.” It comes out _pe’shhh_. “Sorry though. Ya know, for your loss.” That sounds like _losh_ and Steve shakes his head. “Whoa.”

“I’m afraid you don’t quite understand just how important, how _valuable_ this dog is,” Thomas says. “He ran away from home and I _must_ have him back. He’s a useless old rag of a mongrel, but he’s so very special.”

“Huh,” Steve says after taking way too long to try and process that. “Can’t he’p you.” His head reels again and he smacks before taking another swallow of whiskey. Most of it sloshes down his chin and when he lowers the bottle, his fingers open on their own and it falls in his lap, drenching him before the bottle rolls onto the floor of the porch.

“M’kay,” Steve says slowly. His words are so slow and stretchy he can almost feel them dangling off his tongue. “I needta… gotta go… sumpin’.”

“You need only wait a moment longer then you’ll be unconscious,” Thomas says. “I drugged your liquor before I woke you, Mr. McGarrett.”

“Wha? Bu’—” Steve blinks stupidly as a dull, distant alarm bell starts clanging in his mind. “You bas’ard.” He tries to stand, but only lifts up a couple of inches before he falls back in his chair. “Why you… why…”

“Because I desperately want my dog back,” Thomas says. “He won’t come home to me, but for you… oh, yes, for you he will do anything at all. For _you_ he will come home.”

“I don’t un’erstan’,” Steve can barely even make out what he’s saying. He tries to fight the effects of the drug in his system, but it’s useless. He can feel himself going down.

“No, of course you don’t,” Thomas says. He crouches down to look into Steve’s face and Steve tries to watch him back through slitted eyes, but he doubles then triples then just _ripples_ like someone has thrown a rock in the puddle of reality. “Maybe this will help you though: my dog’s name is _Danny_.”

For one moment adrenaline surges through Steve and he struggles through the fog a bit. He’s furious and somewhere in the doped mess of his brain, pieces begin to fall into place. He lunges for Thomas Bailey Cream, but he dodges him easily.

“Temper, temper,” he laughs then glances up at the sky. “We really need to move this along, the moon is nearly all the way up.”

“If you—” _hurt him, I will fucking kill you_ , is what Steve wants to say, but his tongue picks that moment to betray him and stop working. He’s barely conscious now, drifting away-away-away and only hanging on this much by sheer force of will.

“But first, I shall leave my Danny Boy a bit of enticement,” Thomas says. “When he comes sniffing around here tonight and believe you me, he will, he’s going to find a special treat.”

Steve grunts as something punches into his left side. Pain is slow and dull, distant as the sound of the ocean (and that’s weird; the ocean is always there. why is it going away?) as it seeps through his body. He thinks though that he’s just been stabbed. High as he is, all Steve can think about that is, _Huh. Well ain’t that some shit?_

“You are the one thing he never really let go of,” Thomas says as he presses his fingers into the stab wound—yep, Steve’s pretty sure that’s what it is. Distantly, he can actually feel Thomas’s finger in the hole, digging around and making it worse. “I daresay, Mr. McGarrett, you kept him human when nothing else did. Such a pity, that.”

A moment later, Steve is down for the count, so doped up he doesn’t even know if he’s alive anymore. He doesn’t even care.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve’s house is quiet and dark though his truck is parked in the driveway. Danny tips his head back to scent the breeze curiously. Something feels wrong, the place is too still, too silent. It feels abandoned and _sad_.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, cataloging all the smells tickling his quivering nostrils. A cool breeze ruffles his thick fur, but he’s still warm and pants softly in the darkness. He and the wolf are whole again, the moon overhead like the loving eye of a kind mother looking down at them, but all is not right.

Faintly, Danny smells whiskey and even fainter than that, he smells blood. His hackles automatically rise and a low grumble hums in his throat. Did Steve fall down again? Is he really, really hurt this time?

What to do, what to do?

 _Stay,_ he tells himself.

 _Yes, is plan,_ the wolf says.

 _But blood-smell,_ Danny counters. _Is not good._

 _But hiding is,_ the wolf argues.

_What if Steve is hurt?_

The wolf doesn’t like that any more than Danny and it falls silent in his mind, torn as he is about things now. He pants a little faster, growing anxious as he hides in the shadows and foliage, unseen the way any good wolf should be: _you might not see the wolf, but the wolf sees you._

In the end, Danny breaks his cover and slinks across the lawn and around the house, thankful for Steve’s well screened front yard. The closer he gets, the more blood he smells; stronger than the whiskey-smell now that he’s so near. It smells bad. Usually, blood is nice, blood means meat and meat means food, but this is not good blood-smell. This is Steve blood-smell and that means hurt and hurt means pain and Danny doesn’t want Steve to be in pain.

The steps leading up to the porch are splashed with blood, but it’s not enough to make a smell this strong. Danny continues up the steps, more cautious and anxious than before. When he steps onto the porch fully, the boards of it bathed in pale moonlight, Danny sees the source of the strong blood-smell. His lips wrinkle back from his wicked teeth and he snarls so loudly it echoes across the yard.

There is a chair with blood all over it, some of it diluted in a puddle of whiskey, but there’s even more right in front of Danny. His hackles rise and his claw-tipped fingers clench into angry, terrified fists. Now there will be no planning, no hunt, no waiting for the Boss to slip away from the bad place and come out where Danny and the wolf can get him. Now, Danny and the wolf have no choice but to go back to the bad place.

 **BAD DOG** , scrawled big and dark in Steve’s blood has made sure of that.


End file.
